


The Hogwarts Christmas Orb

by NerysDax



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-24
Updated: 2012-12-24
Packaged: 2017-11-22 05:43:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,346
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerysDax/pseuds/NerysDax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas is a time of peace and joy, and most of all, presents. Do Tom and Hermione get what they want or what they need? </p><p>2012 Secret Santa Tomione Fic Exchange - gift for Serpent In Red</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SerpentInRed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerpentInRed/gifts), [Tomione_Forum](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tomione_Forum/gifts).



> Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
> 
> Story is not yet beta'd. My apologies for any silly errors that I might have missed. English is not my native language. 
> 
> I'm using one thing in this fanfic from the HP-movies that wasn't in the HP-books. Don't worry, it's not Voldemort hugging Draco. ;)

**The Hogwarts Christmas Orb**

 

 

_Christmas, 1954_

                                                                                                                               

 

It normally was a dark, dense forest, but this night, pine trees trembled under the weight of the massive amounts of snow on their branches. There also lay at least fifteen inches of snow on the ground. It made an Illumination Charm unnecessary as he trotted though the forest. Snow stilled the noises you ordinarily heard in forests at night, making it unusually quiet around him and emphasising the sounds he made. At last he’d reached his destination. The whiteness of the clearing in the moonlight was almost too bright to witness. The snow crunched underneath his boots as he stepped out from behind the covers of the large bushes. One branch nearly swept in his handsome, pale face, but he incinerated it before it dare touch his almighty being.

 

Fortunately, it had stopped snowing before he’d entered the forest. He didn’t expect that to last though, they’d said there’d be heavy snowfall for days to come. As he moved forward into the clearing—wand in his gloved hand— his tall, dark figure and blood-red eyes stood out spectacularly amongst all that whiteness. The hooded figure stopped at the centre of the clearing, his thick winter-cloak swaying lightly in the wind. He flicked his wand at the sky above him, producing red sparks that spread like fireworks.

 

A second later, he heard the expected sounds of ringing bells. A dark shade in the sky approached him. With a thunderous noise, a sleigh pulled by eight reindeers landed in a circle around him.

 

‘Ho, ho, ho!’ the man pulling the reigns yelled, slowing the sleigh down to a full stop. Agile, he jumped out of the sleigh. ‘Lord Voldemort, I presume,’ he said, holding out his black gloved hand.

 

Tom didn’t take it, staring baffled at the big-bellied man in his completely red suit with white fur trimmings on the edges. He wore a broad black belt, black boots, black gloves and a ridiculous red hat with white fur trimmings at the edge and a white fur ball at the tip. ‘You actually really wear that ridiculous outfit?’ he asked, non to flattering.

 

Santa Claus dropped his hand. Ignoring the comments on his looks, he said, ‘I received your message, Mr Voldemort. I have to say it’s been quite some time since a wizard contacted me, so I decided to come see who had the nerve to demand things from me.’

 

The tall, handsome young man with the blood-red eyes lowered his hood. ‘I suggest you accept my proposal,’ he said coldly. ‘You wouldn’t want to lose your ability to gain access to people’s houses at Christmas. How unfortunate such an event must be for you.’

 

‘Are you threatening me?’ Santa Claus asked, twisting his white moustache.

 

‘Merely painting you a picture, Mr Claus. You’ve obtained a … _fascinating_ method of ensuring your immortality. I quite applaud your ingenuity. All the distress it must cause those loving families, beautiful. I, however, have no interest to devour children—naughty or nice, they’re a bit too sweet for my taste buds.’

 

‘Lord Voldemort, as much as I would love to help you out, I can hardly meet my quota. So many ward their chimneys these days. It would be impossible to eat more children. I’ll be discovered.’

 

‘You’ve been focusing too much on wizarding stock. It’s time you branched out.’ Riddle pulled a flask from his pocket. ‘Spray this in the air on Christmas Eve and the snow that follows will allow you to sate your hunger on Muggle filth. No more worries about wards and curses. Do we have a deal?’

 

Hungrily, Santa Claus looked at the flask in Riddle’s hand. ‘That really does what you say it does?’

 

‘I’m sticking my life on it, am I not?’

 

‘If I can eat Muggle children, too, I can be done so much faster. I suppose … I could eat several more to sustain your immortality as well. You have a deal.’

 

Dark lightning streamed through the air, ensuring the vows were sealed.

 

‘Perfect,’ Riddle said, pulling an orb out of his pocket. ‘I have just the place where we can reside in.’ He held it out, showing a snowy landscape that hosted the Hogwarts castle.

‘I’ve already done my part.’ He pointed to a miniature, lone figure, standing on top of the Astronomy Tower. ‘Now it’s time you do yours, Mr Claus. You know the words.’

 

Santa Claus pulled off his black leather glove and pressed a silver knife into his palm while chanting. His blood dripped on the glass of the orb and went straight through it, turning into red snow. Soon, the entire landscape was blood-red. Tom Riddle whisked his wand at the orb, casting non-verbally. A purple jet of light connected him with the orb and Mr Claus. The sound of bells jingling filled the air and he briefly saw a sleigh flying inside the orb before the landscape turned back to its previous condition. Inside Hogwarts a light got turned on. The figure on the tower was gone.

 

‘It was nice doing business with you,’ Riddle said, accepting the orb back in exchange for the flask.

 

‘The pleasure is all mine,’ Santa said, smirking. ‘You should do something about your skin.’

 

‘What about it?’

 

‘Your appearance has changed from how you arrived here. People may notice and start asking questions you don’t want to answer.’

 

Riddle transfigured the snow around him into a standing mirror and admired his new waxy and oddly distorted face. His eyes had remained in that permanent bloody look, making his new skin stand out even more. He caressed it, relishing at how it showed that he’d become more than a mere human. He was no longer the spitting image of his filthy Muggle father. He was Lord Voldemort, the greatest wizard of all time, and there was no need to hide that.

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

_Christmas, 2007_

 

The crooked, small building seemed to sway under the weight of a thick pack of snow leaning threateningly over the curves of the uneven rooftop. The red brick walls were stained black by the smoke of the illegal potions’ brewery across the cobbled street, giving what no doubt was a once romantic appearing house an eerie dark atmosphere befitting its location. The ground floor hosted a bookshop filled with rare, old and perhaps even some very illegal dark tomes, though the owner would never admit the latter to the Aurors. She, a tiny witch with a round, deceptively kind face, lived right above her bookshop on the first floor, which was the largest and most comfortable flat. Right above the owner lived an old wizard, who stayed mostly to himself and groaned instead of greeted anyone he ran into on the joined staircase. Nobody quite knew who he was, what he did for a living, and how he made ends meet, because after a few encounters, everyone stopped trying to make friends with him. On the third floor, a jovial young man lived who worked part-time as an assistant in the shop. The rest of his time was spend across the street in the brewery where he undoubtedly made quite a bit more money given his expensive taste in furniture, clothes and boyfriends.  

 

But none of these people, though their lives are interesting and full of wonder, matter to us. No, our story begins at the attic. Behind the window’s alcove on the fourth floor, cheerful candles burned in a heavily decorated Christmas tree. The big tree nearly took up all the open space in the cosy living room, standing slightly to the side of the two comfy couches positioned around the hearth, which fire crackled with heat. A coffee table stood in centre, which hosted many empty plates, bowls and glasses. A few crumbs here and there was all that was left of the food previous displayed on it.

 

The attic flat consisted of merely three rooms: a living slash kitchen area, a bedroom and a bathroom. Due to the small space, there was a breakfast bar almost directly behind one of the couches that hid most of the small kitchenette due to its height. On its left was a door that led to the flat’s bedroom and on its right was the door to the hallway in which the occupier of the flat stood as she led out her guests for the evening.

 

‘Your new girlfriend is mighty hot, Luna, too bad she had to leave so early,’ Ron slurred as he dropped his arm around the blonde’s shoulders and hugged her to him. ‘Oh, whoops, forgot I brought the misses. Shhhh … don’t tell.’

 

Hermione shared a look with Patty who rolled her eyes. ‘Sure you don’t want him back, Hermione? He’s such a prize,’ Patty joked.

 

Ron looked up at that, placing his other arm around his wife. ‘We could share,’ he suggested, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at Hermione. ‘That would be fun.’

 

‘Hmmm…tempting as that prospect may be, you can’t possibly handle all of us, Ronniekins,’ Hermione said, slapping him on the head.

 

‘I doubt he can handle himself right now,’ Ginny mocked as she took a hold of Hermione and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘This was a wonderful evening, dear. Can’t we get you to reconsider to come and celebrate Christmas at the Burrow tomorrow? You know Mum will have plenty of food and she’d love to see you again. Everyone would.’

 

‘Yes,’ Harry added hopefully.

 

‘You should come. There’ll be Christmas puddings,’ Ron said dreamily.

 

‘Don’t let him fly or perform Apparition,’ Hermione responded, nodding to Ron.

 

‘I’m a Master at Appatition, I’ll tell you,’ Ron slurred, ‘I can outappaoutpotatoed everyone.’

 

‘Yes, you’re the best, dear,’ Patty said, prying his arm off Luna and taking a firm hold of Ron, ‘We best go before he does something stupid. It was a wonderful evening, Hermione. Thank you for everything. See you all.’ With a crack, she’d Disapparated them.

 

Harry snorted.

 

‘Good thing he has Patty or we’d be collecting his outpotatoed body all over the country,’ Ginny joked.

 

‘I’m just glad they got home safely, you lot be careful, too,’ Hermione said.

 

‘Why don’t you move to a better neighbourhood, Hermione?’ Harry asked. ‘Knockturn Alley isn’t the best place for a witch on her own.’

 

‘Harry James Potter,’ Ginny started, glaring at her husband.

 

‘Eh,’ he said, raising his hands in surrender, ‘it’s not a safe place for anyone, especially after dark, and it’s not like Hermione can’t afford better.’

 

‘I like it here. It’s become my home, and trust me when I say that the normal inhabitants of the alley know better than to try and mess with me. Frankly, it’s probably the safest place for me in the whole of Great Britain.’

 

‘Especially now that you got that protection against Father Christmas,’ Luna said dreamily.

 

‘Yes, Hermione,’ Ginny whispered teasingly, ‘aren’t you glad she brought you that?’

 

‘I know, Luna, and thank you for your concern,’ Hermione replied, causing Ginny and Harry to look bemused since Hermione usually started a debate with Luna about her wild, conspiracy theories. ‘I’m so glad you warned me of the threat and protected my house. It’s just too bad that Harry and Ginny have to go on unprotected.’

 

Hermione tried to stifle her laughter when she saw Ginny’s barely veiled horrified expression. _Got you,_ she thought, satisfied.

 

Luna raised her eyebrows and looked concerned in their direction, but before she could offer to help, Ginny already interfered. ‘Oh, no, we’re fine! Didn’t you hear me earlier, Hermione? We got some from George ages ago. So don’t worry, Luna, we’re covered.’

 

‘Good. Nobody should go unprotected, especially not if you have children. He eats them. Now I really have to go. Pleasant dreams, everyone,’ Luna said as she began descending the stairs.

 

‘Aren’t you going to Disapparate?’ Harry asked.

 

‘I don’t like doing that near powerful wards. It’s not healthy,’ she replied over her shoulder.

 

‘O-okay.’

 

‘I’m so glad it’s just your house that is protected with that lovely smell,’ Ginny teased under her breath, while waving Luna goodbye.

 

‘I’ll sneak into your house tonight and hang my stash everywhere while you sleep,’ Hermione whispered to Ginny with an evil grin. ‘Pleasant dreams, Luna!’ she shouted out loud.

 

‘Bye!’ they all yelled, right before the door closed and it was just the three of them.

 

‘If you plan to sneak into my house, I should warn you that we have some rather vicious wards,’ Harry said, giving her a hug and kissing her on both cheeks.  

 

‘Pfftt … your wards suck, Harry,’ Hermione scorned, patting him on the shoulder. ‘It’ll be so easy to get inside.’

 

‘Oh, you wound me,’ he replied dramatically.

 

They smiled at each other in the way old friends do.

 

‘Where did Ginny go?’ Harry asked, looking around confused.

 

Hermione turned around, not having noticed that Ginny had left their company either. The answer came quickly when Ginny burst out of Hermione’s bedroom, her arms full with the scented sachets containing the dried extract of Carrion Flowers. She had her face turned as far away from it as possible, her nose wrinkled in disgust at the smell of rotten meat. She rushed to the hearth and dumped it in the fire.

 

‘Oh great, now my living room will stink of it, too,’ Hermione said.

 

‘Just a sec.’ Ginny whisked her wand around, conjuring blue smoke that flashed past them straight into every corner and crevice of the place.

 

‘Oh,’ Hermione and Harry said simultaneously, sniffing at what now smelt like a forest just after rain.

 

‘Much better, right?’ Ginny said triumphantly.

 

‘Yes,’ Hermione said thankfully. ‘What’s that spell anyway?’

 

‘One of Fred and George’s inventions,’ Ginny replied. ‘They had to after all the stench they created in the Burrow. It’s pronounced Puanteur Evanesco, and you just whisked your wand around and think of the area you want to target. It removes any and all nasty scents from your house.’

 

‘Puanteur Evanesco,’ Hermione repeated.

 

‘Yes, that’s it. Perfect,’ Ginny said, pleased. ‘I had to do something. I couldn’t risk waking up to such horrific smells in my house. I know you too well.’

 

Hermione sniggered. ‘Me? I’d never do such a thing. I could, however, owl Luna that you came home, found you were out of it and didn’t dare to bother her on Christmas Eve.’

 

‘I’m disabling my doorbell,’ Harry said, alarmed. ‘One sniff of that stuff was enough to last me a lifetime. I’ll take a hundred evil Santas over that stench.’

 

 

 

xxx

 

Satisfied, Hermione closed the door behind them and leaned against it. Absentmindedly, she flicked her wand around, cleaning up the mess a group of people always leave behind while partying. This had been a successful evening, and tomorrow, she’d have a nice day off—the first time she would actually have a free day on Christmas Day. No obligations; no family gatherings; no work; just she, some delicious snacks and drinks, and a nice book that she’d been saving for this occasion. She was already looking forward to it.

 

As she made her way to her bedroom, she picked up her Christmas gift from Ginny and Harry. It was an antique glass orb containing a miniature Hogwarts, including the Quidditch field and stands, the greenhouses, Hagrid’s hut and even a part of the lake and the Forbidden Forest. Lights flickered behind the many windows of the castle and occasionally it seemed like people walked behind them. If she shook the orb, not only did it began to snow but also Santa’s sleigh with his eight reindeers appeared and circled the Hogwarts towers until Santa had delivered all the packages on the sleigh. Then, the snow settled on the ground and the sleigh set off to the lake, vanishing out of sight. It was all intricately carved and detailed, a beautiful piece of art that was magically enhanced. To create something so tiny in such detail not only required a steady hand but also an artistic mind. Too bad the wooden stand with the silver plaque containing the Hogwarts’s logo didn’t state the name of the maker. It merely stated, ‘Christmas 1736’. The stand itself was also wonderfully decorated. Once again, Hermione admired the House logos carved into the wood and the corners that each resembled the Houses’ animal. It was lovely. Somehow, Ginny and Harry always seemed to give her the perfect present. Hermione gave it another shake before putting it on her nightstand and getting ready for bed. Tomorrow would be a wonderful day.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

As Hermione tossed and turned in her sleep, making incomprehensive mumbling noises, there was a distinct glow coming from the orb. Without her having moved it, snow started falling and Santa Claus raced the sky, laughing ominously. With a bang, the front doors of Hogwarts slammed open, casting a bundle of the brightest light into the orb’s sky. As Santa’s sleigh circled Hogwarts faster and faster, the bundle turned brighter and brighter, expending beyond the orb’s confinement. A large white square was cast against Hermione’s curtains. Another ominous laugh filled the orb. Santa’s sleigh raced so fast that it was impossible to follow with the naked eye anymore; the snow had turned into a blizzard. Yet, a dark outline of a figure, standing tall and proud, cast a shadow on the curtains within the bundle of light. It had passed by the blazing snow as if it weren’t there. A soft crack formed in the glass, spreading slowly. Snow turned to water, leaking through the cracks.

 

Abruptly, Santa halted his sleigh. The effect was thunderous. The glass exploded. A high-pitched scream filled the air as a tiny figure standing in the doorway of Hogwarts was tossed violently through the air—rapidly changing to his normal size before he smashed against the curtains and tumbling to the floor in a crumbled heap. Santa’s sleigh abruptly moved backwards; water, glass and make-believe snow flew back towards him, re-establishing the orb to its former impeccable state. Slowly, the snow settled and Santa smirked, looking knowingly at the person who rose from the ground.

 

‘Enjoy your reward, my Lord,’ Santa said, laughing mockingly before he vanished. The antique orb was back in pristine condition, as if nothing had ever occurred to it.

 

The same could not be said about Tom Riddle.

 

Groaning, he pushed himself up on all fours before scrambling sideways and sitting down, leaning against the wall with his head between his hands. He clutched to his hair so hard that he nearly pulled out the strands. Every part of his body ached and his mind felt clouded. He had no idea how long he sat there before he felt even remotely all right and secure enough to move again, but he finally got on his feet, rubbing his eyes to brush away the last sensation of imperceptibility. Taking a deep breath, he finally looked around the bedroom with a cold detachment until his eyes fell on the orb. A triumphant smirk graced his handsome face. It had worked! One of his many safeties to ensure his immortality had come to fruition.

 

Slowly, he walked to the bed and looked down on the enormous bush of brown hair, which was the only thing peeking out from underneath the covers. He reached out, carefully stroking the strands away from her face. Frowning, he realised she wasn’t anyone he was familiar with. Still, she could be the offspring of someone he had known. Someone powerful, clearly, because his fingers tingled from the excess magic that electrified her hair. He resisted the urge to bury his fingers in it and withdrew. It wouldn’t do to wake her. She obviously hadn’t known about the orb’s powers or she’d been awake at the time to do the deed. He turned on his heels and walked into the living room. It was still brightly lit by the fire in the hearth and the candles in the Christmas tree. That at least gave him some indication of the time. But soon, he’d know all he needed to, after he’d summoned his followers. He reached into his robes and pulled out his reserve wand—yew with a dragon heartstring core. With a casual flick at the door, he cast, ‘Alohomora!’

 

Nothing happened.

 

Frowning, he looked at the wand. It had been a spare that he’d bought precisely for this purpose and he’d cast with it before he’d entered the orb. It had worked properly then. He tried again and again. Then, he tried casting ‘Alohomora’ verbally. Still nothing. Several other simple spells also didn’t do anything. ‘Accio! Wingardium Leviosa! Lumos!’

 

Frustrated, he shook the wand as if it were its fault nothing occurred. Maybe he should try some of his specialities? ‘Legilimency! Imperio! Crucio! Avada Kedavra!’

 

Not a single spark flew from his wand. Panic began to rise from within the core of his being. What was wrong with him? He stared long and hard at the wand, wishing he had his old yew wand again. Surely, that had to be it. The wand was faulty. Lord Voldemort couldn’t be without his magic. He pocketed the wand and held out his hand, staring at the vase on the side table and swiftly twisting his palm around, ‘Geminio!’

 

‘Argh!’ he yelled, infuriated that wandless he was equally impotent.

 

Immediately, he stilled when he heard moving in the bedroom. Stupid. He’d woken that witch. Time to leave. Quickly, he moved to the door.

 

‘Someone there?’ a sleepy voice asked.

 

He reached out to grab the doorknob, but he couldn’t touch it. Shocked, he stared at the knob. Wards, of course, that witch had to have put up wards. He would’ve. He swirled around, finding himself at the tip of a wand that would most likely function.

 

‘Don’t move,’ the witch with the enormous hair said sternly.

 

She had a pair of clear brown eyes that seem to assess him swiftly. He admired her composure, for someone who’d just woken to find someone in her home she surely was cool and collected. Standing just far enough away so he couldn’t lunge at her and in a stance that betrayed she’d had plenty of combat experience. This would become problematic if she weren’t an ally.

 

_Better not tell her I am Lord Voldemort._

 

‘Who are you and what are you doing in my flat?’

 

‘I’m sorry; something must have gone terribly wrong with my Apparition,’ he lied, ‘Miss er…?’

 

Her eyes narrowed at him. She didn’t buy it. Quickly he began to babble. That always worked. He could charm everyone, especially witches.

 

‘I was aiming for my flat. My apologies. I must have drank a bit too much eggnog. I’m really sorry I startled you. When I realised I was in the wrong place, I tried to leave but your door is warded,’ he said smoothly, sending her one of his most disarming smiles.

 

‘Your Apparition went wrong,’ she said coolly, sounding like she had a hard time believing it. ‘Mister … ?’

 

‘Oh, my apologies.’ He clutched his hands to his chest dramatically. If he could just get close enough, he could wrestle that little witch’s wand away from her. Too bad his magic wasn’t working, otherwise he’d have cursed that insolent little chit into oblivion already. ‘How rude of me.’ He took a step towards her.

 

‘I said, “Don’t move”,’ she repeated, pointing her wand more firmly in his direction. ‘Take one more step and you’ll regret it. Now what’s your name?’ she hissed angrily.

 

His keen mind flashed over his options. He had no idea who this witch was. He had to lie. ‘Honorus Smith, at your service, Mi—’

 

‘Try again,’ she interrupted sharply. ‘This time preferably without lying.’

 

Shocked, he realised they’d had eye contact during what he’d said and, given that he’d been unable to do magic, his Occlumency walls had to have been down. It also meant that little witch could perform Legilimency at an advance state since he hadn’t seen her cast and she also had had no qualms about performing said spell. Interesting.

 

‘Invading people’s mind is a criminal offence,’ he said, buying himself time.

 

Her snort took him by surprise, and he raised his eyebrows questioningly. Was he supposed to know her? Was she some famous dark witch that everybody knew yet he was unaware of? Damn his current state of ignorance. His dark eyes flashed around the flat, falling on the Daily Prophet, but he couldn’t make out the fine print.

 

‘It’s 25th December, 2007,’ she said coldly. ‘Not something you needed to know if you merely had an Apparition accident, Mr…?’

 

His insides turned to ice and he dropped his head, avoiding eye contact at all costs. She knew he had no idea of the date, which meant she’d seen more than he’d bargained for. Still, 2007 was helpful information. He’d shed the identity of Tom Riddle after leaving the United Kingdom. Surely, no one would be able to connect that name to his true name anymore in 2007. He’d had to stay near to the truth to gain her trust. He lifted his head, giving her another disarming smile.

 

‘I apologise. All this has been incredibly disconcerting and I’m feeling quite disorientated as you probably can imagine. My name is Tom Riddle,’ he said, holding out his hand to her.

 

She looked at his hand briefly but didn’t take it, so eventually he dropped his arm, waiting as silence hang thick between them.

 

‘I’m surprised,’ she finally said.

 

Confused, he looked at her. What on earth was this witch on?

 

‘The truth,’ she explained. ‘I wasn’t expecting that from you of all people, _Voldemort_.’

 

The way she sneered his name told him that without any doubt he wasn’t talking to one of his supporters. Plus, she knew! How was that even possible? He had to find out.

 

‘Not today,’ the witch muttered, seemingly to herself. ‘I’m not ruining Harry’s Christmas.’

 

‘Who are you?’ he asked coldly.

 

‘None of your bloody business,’ she snapped, taking a couple of steps backwards to lean against the wall. ‘Why can I never have a quiet, calm Christmas for once?’

 

She banged the back of her head against the wall, but he could tell she wasn’t distracted by the way she held her wand. Lunging at her now would be a severe mistake an idiot might’ve made, but Lord Voldemort was no idiot.

 

‘Just open the door and you can have all the quietness you like.’

 

‘Yeah, that’s not going to happen,’ she sneered, flicking her wand. ‘Stupefy!’

 

The Stupefying Charm hit him dead on, a beam of red smashing into his chest with such considerable force he could sense the magic around him. Yet, he stayed standing, fully conscious. Nothing had happened to him. For a moment, they both stared at the anomaly in surprise. Then their eyes met and they each flew into action. He raced towards her as she ran to the hearth and grabbed the poker. He dove to her as she swung it around, scratching the side of his head while they flew through the air, her head smacking into the wood floor with a thud when he landed on top of her. Slightly dizzy, he wiped his face from where he felt wetness dripping down on it. His hand came back red.

 

Furious, his hand curled around her neck and squeezed when another smack resonated through his skull, this time from her fist. A cry of pain left his lips and he let go off her neck, clutching to his skull, while his other hand grabbed her head and rammed it hard into the ground. Her pain-filled scream would’ve delighted him more if it hadn’t pierced through his already pounding mind so much. Soft patting noises on his right alarmed him. She was searching for the poker she must’ve let go while falling! His fingers curled around her wrist at the precise moment when she’d located it and he smacked her hand into the ground, trying to force her to let go of the weapon.

 

She didn’t.

 

He blocked a swing coming at his head from the other side and grappled around for that arm, hearing her frustrated scream when he caught it. Suddenly, he felt his lower body rise from the floor, destabilising his hold on her. Refusing to let go of her wrists to avoid giving her free rein with that poker, he couldn’t maintain his position on top of her as she used her legs to push her lower body so far off the ground that he started to slip off her, desperately trying to keep her hands under control. He smacked to the floor, face first, dizzying him even further. Her hands now pushed him completely away and he heard her struggling to get up. Blindly, he swung his leg sideways. Not knowing where she was, he struck both her and the stone elevation around the hearth, which not only made her groan but also hurt him considerably.

 

Still, they both managed to get on their feet at the same time. The fight was messy and vicious, unlike the clean ones shown in films where every blow strikes its intended target. It all went so fast he hardly knew where he or she was, which is how he nearly landed himself in the fireplace when he lunged at her and missed, thanking the fire screen from preventing him of imminent disaster. When he turned, she had the poker in her hands again and swung it around; he ducked, hearing it swoop over his head, and she twirled around, having put so much force behind her swing that she couldn’t stop herself from moving.

 

Taking advantage that her back was turned against him, he swung his arm around her neck and tried to throttle her, but she bit into his arm and kicked his shin, hard. He screamed, hopping on one leg and waving his arm as if that would take away the pain. She’d turned and grappled his robes at the front with one hand, giving him a hard pull while stepping aside. He tumbled forward, feeling a striking pain in his back when that blasted poker struck him there and he crashed into the living room table, hearing the wood crack before the world turned dark around him.

 

 

 

xxx

 

Hermione stumbled back, grabbing the mantel to steady herself. Her whole body ached; her head was pounding; blood dripped from several wounds; and her favourite pyjama was torn in several places. She rubbed her forehead—poker still in hand—and slowly regained her wits. Smiling triumphantly, she looked at the motionless body of Tom Riddle, lying in the debris of her table.

 

_I win!_

 

With a twist of her wrist, her wand appeared in her hand and she healed herself and fixed her clothes. Her eyes flickered between her wand and Riddle. Clearly, she could still do magic. Why hadn’t her previous spell worked on him? She tried again.

 

‘Incarcerous!’ she cast.

 

Futile.

 

Annoyed, Hermione looked at her wand. ‘Fine,’ she said through gritted teeth and swung it around, conjuring a thick rope. ‘Of course, _that_ you will do.’

 

Pocketing her wand, she approached Riddle cautiously, pricking him with the poker before being satisfied enough that he really was out cold. For a brief moment, she played with the thought of bashing his head in repeatedly. However, her conscious and curiosity cast that aside and she started tying his hands together on his back.

 

‘It probably wouldn’t have worked anyway,’ she grumbled to herself. ‘Nothing seems to whack that idiot permanently.’

 

Not having much experience with tying people up by hand, she began rolling the rope around Riddle’s body. _Mummified Voldemort_ , her mind giggled. When she’d reached his legs, his stirring and groaning noises alerted her that he was regaining consciousness.

 

‘What?’ Riddle asked, seemingly dazed and trying to get into a seated position.

 

 _Must put in a gag next_ , Hermione mentally decided. ‘Don’t move or I’ll hit you again,’ she threatened, nodding to the poker lying beside her.

 

His stare was murderous, but he lay down again and kept still as she pulled the knot around his ankles as tight as possible. Satisfied at her work, Hermione let go of the rope. At once, the rope disappeared through Riddle’s body, dropping uselessly on the floor. They both stared at the occurrence, baffled.

 

‘What the hell?’ Riddle said, patting his body in alarm as he sat up.

 

‘What are you?’ Hermione asked, wide-eyed. She pricked him in the side with the poker once, but it didn’t disappear through him as the rope had done. ‘How is this possible?’

 

Riddle looked from her to the poker to his body and reached out for a piece of wood next to him. His hand went right through it. They both gasped at the occurrence.

 

‘This can’t be,’ Riddle said.

 

‘Bu-but you touched me. You can’t be a ghost. You don’t look like a normal ghost,’ Hermione added. Her eyes flashed over his body. It seemed solid enough to her. She’d hit him. She’d just poked him. He’d bled. ‘Your wounds are gone!’ she exclaimed, staring at his face.

 

His hand reached to his forehead, checking her statement. ‘Weird,’ he muttered. ‘I feel completely fine now, while a moment ago, I ached like I’d had a trip on the Knight Bus.’

 

‘Oh, this is so unfair,’ Hermione grumbled, stamping the poker on the ground and leaning on it in annoyance.

 

Amused, Riddle looked up. ‘I’m terribly sorry to disappoint you.’

 

Immediately, Hermione raised the poker as if planning to strike him again.

 

Riddle raised both hands in the air in surrender. ‘Let’s not do this again, shall we?’ he suggested. ‘I believe we already established it’s pointless anyway.’

 

‘Oh, I don’t know. You were deliciously silent for a while,’ Hermione sneered, still keeping the poker ready above her shoulder. ‘I suppose I could keep repeating it.’

 

‘I don’t like that idea.’

 

‘I bet you don’t.’

 

‘Mind if I suggest something else?’

 

‘I’m so going to regret this.’

 

‘Why don’t we call a truce for now?’

 

‘A truce with you? And wait for the knife in my back? Hah! I think not.’

 

‘Since I clearly am unable to touch a knife, your hypothesis is invalid. I do wonder…’ he paused, looking her up and down. ‘Mind if I …?’ he trailed off, reaching out tentatively with one hand.

 

Hermione took a step back. ‘What are you doing?’

 

‘I just want to check a theory.’

 

Hermione’s eyes flickered between his hand and herself. Realising what he was thinking, she sighed. ‘My curiosity will be the death of me,’ she muttered, stepping towards him. ‘Fine, but no funny business or—’

 

‘—you’ll hit me with that poker. I get it,’ he finished, smiling brightly. His fingers curled around her leg and then he reached for that same piece of wood again. This time, he could grab and lift it off the floor. ‘Fascinating,’ he said, looking up at Hermione’s now pale face. ‘There seems to be some sort of connection between us.’

 

‘There is no bloody connection!’

 

With a fast swing of the poker, Hermione knocked him out again.

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

 

Whenever she woke in the many weeks that followed, Hermione hoped it had all been a ridiculous nightmare. Tom bloody Riddle wasn’t in her flat. It had all been a figment of her imagination, and today would be the day that figment had vanished. A hope that got squashed every single time she opened her bedroom door and saw him sitting languorously on _her_ couch.

 

‘Why do you get to sit on that?’ she sneered, wishing things would make sense for once. ‘Come to think of it, why doesn’t the floor swallow you whole, too?’

 

‘Magic doesn’t always comply with the laws of physics,’ Riddle suggested, shrugging carelessly. Then, a mischievous expression appeared on his face and he added, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively, ‘Or it is the size that matters.’

 

Hermione groaned, walking to her kitchen, desperate for coffee. Did he have to remind her of their embarrassing and completely inappropriate walk-ins on each other at every possible opportunity? It was bad enough to have him around. She really had no interest in seeing him naked or having him see her naked. Again.

 

It had been only a couple of days ago that Riddle had figured out he could change what he was wearing by thinking it. However, in between the changes, she’d got a very good look at his nude body, which she could’ve done without. Knowing Lord Voldemort had a nice butt and quite impressive equipment hadn’t been on her need-to-know list. Why he even bothered to change was beyond her, his clothes were about as substantial as he was.

 

‘And a jolly good morning to you, too,’ Riddle said, chipper.

 

The weird part was that she seemed to be the only one able to see, hear and touch him. Others walked through Riddle without noticing anything, unlike the effect it had when a ghost passed through you. Harry had led a small investigative team, trying out everything to find a sign Riddle was there, but they found nothing. Harry had been really understanding and worried. He’d even made her see a Healer to check her vitals and if nothing was draining her life-force, but she was declared to be in perfect health. It had been really embarrassing because Riddle had been in the Healer’s office the entire time, making derogatory comments about basically everything, and it was hard for her to focus on what others were saying when he yapped through it all.

 

At one point, she actually had to stop making a ruckus about seeing him because she could tell people were beginning to doubt her sanity—something the twat was incredibly amused about. So, in the end, she’d lied and told the few who knew that she’d seen a specialist Healer who’d found she’d suffered from Pseudo-Malcolm Syndrome: a defect in her auditory and sensory nerves that made her hear and see things that weren’t there. She’d found the rare, easily curable wizarding disease in one of her many textbooks. She had worked hard to get her job as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and didn’t want to lose it due to Riddle. It had been hard to lie to Harry, especially when she noticed how relieved he was that she was now better and that Voldemort hadn’t really come back to life again.  

 

The trouble was that she had no idea how this Riddle came into existence. He clearly wasn’t a Horcrux come to life in some shape or form, nor was he a ghost or a regular human being, but what the hell was he then? He didn’t seem to require food or water, nor did he need to perform basic human bodily functions. Yet, when she touched him, his body felt normal, like any other’s. It made no sense at all.

 

Sure, she suspected that antique orb of Hogwarts was involved in his creation—it was his type of object—and she had gone out of her way to check its history. After getting it back from the Unspeakables—who found nothing out of the ordinary—she’d cast many spells on it, noticing Riddle’s veiled interest as she worked. She tried destroying it, which failed miserably. Not even Fiendfyre or Basilisk venom did the trick. She went through her entire repertoire of wizarding knowledge as she cast, both dark and light. Yet, the orb didn’t reveal its secrets.

 

Neither did Riddle. She was pretty sure he knew what was going on and wasn’t sharing. _That_ actually made her relieved, because it meant he had something to fear. If he hadn’t, he would just be boosting about his perfect scheme and how inadequate she was. No, she just had to research harder. There had to be a way to get rid of him. She wanted that annoying, calculating, piercing, dark stare of his whenever she did something even mildly immoral, like lie or use the Dark Arts, out of her life.

 

Hermione closed her eyes, sipping her hot, black coffee, satisfied. Coffee always made her feel better.

 

‘So, Mudblood, what’s up for today? Are you going to be working through more useless paperwork that won’t get anything done in the end again?’ Riddle sneered right behind her.

 

So much for feeling better.

 

Her face turned red in anger and she swirled around, her coffee sloshing over the rim. ‘Crap!’ With a quick wave of her wand, the situation was undone and she focused back on Riddle. ‘I’ll have you know that I’ve changed more in the few years I’ve been in office than anyone before me.’

 

‘Give the girl an Order of Merlin,’ Riddle mocked.

 

Hermione smirked triumphantly and pushed past him. ‘Don’t need another one. And before you’re going to comment on that, Mr Know-It-All, it’s Saturday.’ She slammed the door to her bedroom closed behind her.

 

‘Oh great, another fascinating day of you staying indoors! You live such a full life!’ he yelled, but unfortunately, she didn’t take the bait and he was left on his own again.

 

Sighing, Riddle turned around, leaning against the breakfast bar. This entire situation had to change. He was getting nowhere. Sure, taunting the little witch was mildly amusing. She was easy to rattle and he’d never met anyone who could preach so long and so fast about those ridiculous subjects she valued. But he couldn’t deny that she was also incredibly intelligent. He wasn’t foolish enough not to recognise valuable assets when they fell right in front of his feet, and Ms Granger—disgusting Mudblood she might be—would make an exceptional ally if she weren’t trying to do him in. If she’d performed that one curse on the orb at the right time, he’d…

 

Agitated, his hand ruffled through his hair.

 

This all hadn’t worked out as expected. He was supposed to return as he’d been, not this dependant ghost-like being that couldn’t perform magic. When he’d dealt with this temporary inconvenience, he’d find that blasted Santa Claus and put an end to _his_ immortality once and for all. Now he had to focus on regaining his normal state of being and that—he was certain—was somehow linked to that little witch. He had to work the problem as he always did. He knew he felt better around her, more energetic. When he had contact (or indirect contact) with her, he could touch things (smaller than a couch, floor or wall)—actually, she did have a point that it was strange that he wasn’t falling through the floor.

 

For a moment he pondered on that—his mind going over things that might explain that anomaly. However, since he didn’t have an answer to it, he filed it away for later study.

 

Their connection was what he had to work on. He’d tried leaving her side when he’d had the option, only to find himself transported right next to her whenever he’d gained a certain distance. Granger, on the other hand, hadn’t been able to leave his side either. That had got clear after she’d warded him in and attempted to leave, knowing he couldn’t follow through that. She wasn’t transported back as humiliatingly as he had been, but she’d got nasty physical symptoms and an overwhelming need to return that she couldn’t resist. These were all things that suggested some kind of bond had been established between them, and that said bond wasn’t one-sided either. That was what he’d first thought: If he just stuck it out long enough, she would wither away and he’d regain all what was rightfully his. However, the bond seemed to be mutual beneficial. With every passing day, he’d seen Granger becoming more powerful and full of zest, too. It was infuriating.  

 

He wished he’d had a chance to test if he could perform magic while touching Granger. He hadn’t tried that yet. She always made sure that her bedroom door was locked when she went to sleep and he didn’t want to make an attempt with her conscious and aware about it. She already held the hopefully false presumption that he was without magic. If that got disproven, she’d become even more cautious around him. He, somehow, had to lull her further into a false sense of security. He sighed. The one time he needed his charm to work on a witch and it seemed an unreachable goal.

 

The door flung open and Granger reappeared, book in hand. How utterly predictable.

 

The book got tossed on her couch as she walked past it. Her coffee mug flew to the coffee container to get a refill while she was busy rummaging through her cabinets for snacks. Riddle rolled his eyes. Sure, he loved to read, too, but didn’t she ever do something—

 

‘Unlocking Wenlock’s Seven, A Comprehensive Study of Common Misconceptions and Assumptions, by The Red Serpent,’ he read out loud as he looked at the book with renewed interest. 

 

‘Interesting, isn’t it?’ her muffled voice said through the crisping of bags. ‘I’ve been dying to read it ever since I heard of it. The author takes a completely different approach to Arithmancy than others before her. Some say this is the way Wenlock originally meant for it to work, which would explain some of the discrepancies with the theories used today and Wenlock’s statements about the number values. Unfortunately, it took them ages to translate it to English and my Chinese just isn’t up for the job. I tried, but … well, couldn’t make heads or tails from it.’

 

‘So this truly unlocks seven or is it just some other pretender boosting without validating anything in the end?’ he asked, feeling utterly frustrated he couldn’t simply lift it and check the contents by himself.

 

Hermione rose from behind her counter, her arms filled with snacks and a bowl of cereal. She shrugged. ‘I haven’t read it yet, but considering how much the Arithmancy field is in uproar due to this book, I’d say it will have to have some substance.’

 

‘Or you’ll add it,’ Riddle said, nodding amused to her arms.

 

‘I get peckish when I read, not that it’s any of your business,’ she replied, walking past him with a huff and dumping her snacks on the coffee table while sitting down on the couch with her cereal. The bowl automatically filled itself with milk from the fridge at a wave of her wand and she grabbed the book, reading and eating at the same time. Her newly filled coffee mug was hovering in wait right next to her.

 

Tom placed his hands on the couch’s back, reading over her shoulder. Hermione shifted briefly, but he could tell she was trying her best to ignore him as she read on. She was somewhat slower than him in finishing the pages, which was convenient since it meant he didn’t have to take other measures to ensure he read it all. It truly seemed to be a worthwhile book to read. The introduction was very promising.

 

‘Do you have to stand there?’ Hermione asked, as she placed the now empty bowl away and grabbed her coffee mug.

 

‘I have the best view from here.’

 

‘It’s very annoying when people try to read over your shoulder.’

 

‘Good thing I’m not trying then; I’m succeeding.’

 

Abruptly, she closed the book, placed it on the side and turned around. ‘You. Are. Not. Going. To. Stand. There. All. Day. Long,’ she hissed.

 

‘I am not?’ he asked daringly. ‘Pray tell, how will you stop me?’

 

‘You really want to find out?’

 

‘Fine,’ he said, raising his hands in the air, ‘you win. I’ll go sit over there.’ Feeling her eyes piercing into his back, he walked over to the other couch and sat down demonstratively. ‘There,’ he said with a broad, winning smile, ‘I’m no longer reading over your shoulder. Happy?’

 

‘I suppose,’ she answered, her eyes flickering over his posture suspiciously.

 

She was very correct in being suspicious. He had no intention of giving up. She would let him read that book if he had to make hell freeze over. Something Hermione soon found out, because when she focused back on the page, a horrible, high-pitched screeching noise tormented her eardrums. Having nearly spilled the coffee she was sipping on, she looked up, horrified.

 

‘What for Merlin’s sake is that?!’ she yelled over the noise.

 

‘An aria from Puccini,’ Tom explained lightly, interrupting his ‘singing’ briefly before continuing. If looks could kill, he’d be done twice over by now.

 

‘Puccini would roll over in his grave,’ Hermione grumbled, grabbing her book tightly and trying to shut out the incessant noise as she finished her coffee much faster than normally.   

 

So, he merely screeched a bit higher and louder, watching her knuckles go white in satisfaction. Her eyes were glued to the page, the exact same page for quite some time now. He’d noticed she’d not flipped one in ages as he moved from classical music to much more annoying children’s songs. They tended to get stuck in your head. ‘Row, row, row your boat. Gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily—’

 

‘Argh! All right!’ Hermione snapped, covering her ears. ‘Stop it, just stop it.’

 

He tilted his head questioningly, an innocent façade spread all over his features. ‘Am I disturbing you?’

 

She buried her head in her arms, groaning. ‘This has to be a crazy dream; next Lord Voldemort will be writing poetry,’ she mumbled barely audible.

 

Yet, he could still make out what she said and smirked. All he had to do was win her over. Finding a common ground would be the obvious way to approach this.

 

‘I’m not asking for much, you know,’ he started quietly. ‘Surely, you can understand my interest in reading?’

 

Some incoherent, grumbling noise that sounded like a reluctant acknowledgement to him came from underneath all that hair before she rose, planted her chin on the palms of her hands and looked straight at him. ‘So, just because you can’t hold a book by yourself and read, nobody else should. Typical.’

 

‘That’s not what I’m saying.’

 

‘But you’re making it impossible for me to read.’

 

‘As you are making it impossible for me,’ he countered calmly.

 

Hermione tossed her hands in the air. ‘What do you suggest we do then? I can’t read when someone is peeking over my shoulder, especially when …’ she trailed off, blushing slightly.

 

‘Especially when what?’ he inquired, curious as to what made her suddenly blush.

 

‘Nothing. I just don’t want you hovering over me at my back.’

 

He was sure there was another reason, too, but decided not to push it. ‘Scared?’

 

‘Sensibly cautious,’ she corrected. ‘Besides, you can’t tell me you’ve never found it annoying when someone tried to read over your shoulder.’

 

‘They would only try that once,’ he admitted.

 

‘Hah! See,’ she said triumphantly, ‘it _is_ annoying. I can’t read a whole book like that.’

 

‘Well …’ Tom paused, a devious thought sprung to mind with which he could strike two birds with one stone. ‘I think I may just have the answer.’

 

Slowly, he rose from his couch and approached her, holding out his hand to her. Hermione’s eyes widened. ‘Wh-what?’

 

‘Trust me.’

 

‘Pffttt…’ She burst out in laughter, actually doubling over in mirth. He didn’t think it was _that_ funny. After all, they’d already established that they couldn’t really hurt each other, which right now, was something he would really like to do: Snap that pretty little neck of hers, stopping that insolent laughter at his expense, and watch the light leave her eyes.

 

‘Are you done?’ he asked evenly, covering his true feelings.

 

A few short hiccoughs shook her body before Hermione looked up, her eyes sparkling and her mouth producing a mocking grin. ‘No need to get annoyed,’ she said, grasping his hand and allowing him to pull her up, almost flush against his body. ‘Asking me to trust you?’ She shook her head. ‘We both know that if you could, I’d be a corpse right now.’

 

 _Would you?_ he wondered, gazing straight into those brown, intelligent eyes. He knew he could do it. Killing had always come easy to him—it wouldn’t be any different this time, but it would be a shame. She was powerful and smart, pretty in her own way, courageous, devious, and as he’d seen, definitely not opposed to using the Dark Arts when it fit her. She also was ambitious and a hard worker, precise and organised—in many ways she reminded him of himself. Of course she wasn’t nearly as brilliant as he was (nobody was), and she had that awful moral compass that she acted upon; she cared for, _loved_ people.

 

Hermione coughed softly, shaking him out of his contemplations. Her face was flushed, and he noticed he was slowly stroking her hand with his thumb. Abruptly, he stopped. When had he started doing that?! Why had he done that?! The brief panic that rose inside of him got wiped away by her calmly spoken next words. ‘And now?’  

 

‘Oh, the book,’ he answered, gesturing at her to pick it up. As she turned away to lift it from the couch, he shook his head in disbelief at his own actions. He wouldn’t be disturbed if he’d done it deliberately, but subconsciously…? Insane.

 

‘Got it,’ she said superfluously as she held up the book in the air.

 

Before she had a chance to turn around fully, he swiftly moved in, wrapping his arm around her waist and putting one of the cushions against the armrest.

 

‘What are you doing?’ she asked, her hands clutching to the book.

 

He smirked, enjoying the sudden onset of fear in the air and the feel of her rigid body against him. He snaked his other arm around her waist, too, pulling her tighter to him as he buried his face in her hair. ‘Making sure you won’t fall,’ he breathed into her ear.

 

‘F-fall?’

 

‘When I do this,’ he explained, abruptly dropping onto the couch and pulling her with him. He landed precisely as he’d aimed for, _naturally_ , with his back against the cushion he’d just placed against the armrest, his legs on the couch and Hermione between them. She was too shocked to react, still holding the book with both hands as she had done seconds ago. ‘Good of you not to drop it,’ he said softly, kissing her on her head.

 

She dropped her arms in her lap, shaking her head. ‘No, no, no, we’re not doing this.’

 

‘Why not?’

 

She tilted her head backwards, looking him straight in the eye. ‘Do you honestly think I’m going to sit in your lap for the entire time it will take us to read this thick volume?’

 

‘Technically, you’re not sitting in my lap, you’re on—’

 

‘Technically, my arse,’ she swore, angry. ‘This was completely unnecessary. You could’ve just said what you had planned and—’

 

‘—made everything incredibly awkward and thus a no-go,’ he interrupted. ‘If I’d just said it, you’d have had thousands of silly, little reasons as to why we shouldn’t do this.’

 

‘Well, I still have those “thousands of silly, little reasons”,’ she huffed, ‘and now you can add one more reason to it, namely the one of me being pissed at you.’ She made an attempt to move forward and he pulled her right back. ‘Please tell me you didn’t just do that,’ Hermione hissed through gritted teeth.

 

‘Calm down for a moment, Granger, and look at this practically. If we’re seated this way, we both have a clear view on the text, we can take turns in holding the book, and neither of us is in an uncomfortable position.’

 

‘Hah! Neither,’ she scoffed.

 

‘What are you afraid of?’

 

‘I’m not afraid of anything. I just don’t appreciate being restricted in my movements.’

 

Tom let go of her waist and placed his leg on the floor. ‘Fine, go then. I’ll go row, row, row—’

 

Hermione groaned, closing her eyes and dropping her head. ‘You’re without a doubt the most obnoxious, irritating person I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet.’

 

‘I am also right,’ he added, smug because she’d not moved away. He was winning this, he could tell. ‘And you know it.’

 

‘Fine, I’ll give this a go, but any funny business and I’m going to read this in my bedroom.’

 

‘Oh dear, I fear you’d find that my dulcet tones can reach that tiny distance quite easily.’

 

‘There are always Sound Deafening Charms.’

 

‘Considering I could hear your loud snoring last night, I daresay those are not functioning between us either, as I think you’re already aware of, or that would’ve been the first thing you tried.’

 

Hermione tilted her head, looking up at him. ‘You _dare_ complain about my snoring? Have you even the slightest notion that the noise you make is slowly tearing down this building inch by inch?’

 

Tom sniggered. ‘My snoring doesn’t bother me.’

 

‘And that’s all that matters,’ Hermione replied, rolling her eyes before lifting up the book from her lap and asking, ‘So where were you?’

 

‘Page thirty-six,’ Tom replied, smirking triumphantly. As she flipped through the book to get to that designated page, he swung his leg back on the couch, commenting, ‘I presume it’s not too restrictive for your highness if I put my leg back on the couch. It’s starting to fall asleep. Oww!’ he yelped, rubbing his head. ‘That’s a thick book you hit me with.’

 

‘Well, it’s a thick skull I’m striking. Can we just read now?’ she asked, sounding impatient as she held open the book at the right page demonstratively.

 

‘Certainly.’

 

From that moment on, it was silent in the flat apart from the occasional flip of a page or the quiet shift in position. Tom took full advantage from the brief time periods in which he was done with the opened pages and she was still reading. They were short, but still gave him the opportunity to observe her. There was a huge difference between the two of them when they read. He always read with a thorough awareness of his surroundings, skimming the pages for the interesting contents and ignoring the rest. Nobody would ever be able to sneak up on Lord Voldemort while he was reading.

 

Granger, on the other hand, seemed to shut out the world completely when she was reading, her focus fully on everything the pages had to offer. It was a bit a waste of time in his opinion, but it came in handy now as his eyes flickered over her body. Even though she’d raised her knees at some point and rested the book against them, Hermione’s arms were beginning to drop. Before she’d a chance to ask him to take over the book, he offered, receiving a relieved glance as a reward. He sent her a charming smile, enjoying how she relaxed in his arms and waiting the six additional seconds it took her to finish before flipping each page. It felt really good, holding her so close, feeling her lie against his chest, her legs between his. Everything felt right as if this were meant to be. He had an overwhelming urge to expand on their contact but refrained, not wanting to scare her off.

 

However, when she took over the book again, he gently laid down his arms around her, ready to use the excuse of tiredness that he didn’t need because she made no comment about it. They shifted in position regularly, debated the contents several times; Hermione consumed her food and drinks, occasionally running off to the toilet; she turned on the lights when it became dark; and faster than expected, it was late in the evening. He was holding the book and she was lying slightly on her side, her head on his chest, when he realised she’d not been this quiet in ages.

 

‘Hermione?’ he whispered tentatively.

 

There was no response, just the steady even sound of breathing. Was she asleep?

 

Carefully, he placed the book on the backrest and stroked her hair from her face. She shifted, moaning as she buried her head in his chest. He almost cried out when her elbow rubbed painfully in his stomach during the movement, and her other arm swung to her head as if swapping away a fly before coming to rest there. When she was finally still again, her leg was on top of his and she was lying fully on her side.

 

Tom grinned. This had worked out even better than expected. Cautiously, he moved his arms above her, fiddling his robes’ sleeve to open to secret pocket containing his wand. He’d never been more pleased to have that specially-made pocket than nowadays. Granger had searched him for a wand, but apart from him, no one could see, open or summon something from that magically enhanced piece of clothing. Clearly, his other self had not shared that bit of extraordinary Potions knowledge. He finally retrieved his wand, and as it made contact with his fingers, he could sense the difference. A warm tingling spread from his fingers up his arm to the rest of his body.

 

Oh yessss.

 

A casual sideway flip and the coffee table rose into the air. Satisfaction filled him as he transfigured it easily into item after item after item before putting it back on the ground in its former condition. With a sheer look of reverence in his eyes, he slid his wand through his fingers, enjoying how his power had returned to him. This was what it meant to be Lord Voldemort, the greatest wizard of all time. Now he’d fix all his problems.

 

His eyes gleamed red as he looked down on the little witch lying against him. Time to teach her a lesson in proper manners around her superiors. _Crucio!_ he cast nonverbally.

 

However, to his utmost humiliation, the Unforgivable simply bounced off her, like her spell had bounced off him. She didn’t even move an inch. Aggravated, he stared at his wand. What was with this non-attacking nonsense? _That_ sparked an idea. Would all magic fail on her, or was the intent behind it of importance? He tried a warming spell to keep her from getting cold, but was unsure if it’d taken. He attempted to levitate her arm into a more comfortable position, but it didn’t move. He sighed, unsure if this meant he couldn’t perform magic at all on her or if it somehow detected the selfish motives behind his attempts. Carefully, he picked up her arm and moved it down.

 

Her arm!

 

He’d seen the scar on her arm before. Slowly, he pulled up her sleeve, freezing briefly when she muttered something incomprehensible. Then he looked at the scar again. In dark-red letters it stated, ‘Mudblood’. Considering how inflamed the skin still appeared around the edges, it had to have been a cursed blade—they inflicted wounds designed to keep the victim in pain for the rest of their remaining lives and they couldn’t be healed. Well, not by conventional methods anyway.

 

He scratched the back of his head. This was a huge dilemma. He wanted to know if she was at all susceptible to his magic, but if he healed this scar, she’d know. There would be no way to undo it. Not only didn’t he have a cursed blade at hand, but also, this whole do-no-harm business would thwart him even if he had. Besides, no one would stay asleep when you started carving into them.

 

Maybe he could try if a disguising Glamour would work on her, instead of healing the scar? He cast it on her arm, but it remained visible. Now that he thought about it, she’d never shown any embarrassment about having that thing on her arm. So, naturally, it wouldn’t be seen as beneficial to her to just disguise it.

 

He stared at that hideous scar for quite some time, the word ‘Mudblood’ screaming at him as if it were pounding through his brain. It was a complex spell to heal it. If he could perform that, he could do anything.

 

 _Only when you touch her_ , his mind warned. _It may be over once you lose contact and if she knows you can do magic …_

 

Mudblood, Mudblood, Mudblood, the word was swimming in front of his eyes.

 

Then again, she should be thankful to him for ridding her of that pain, he countered. And she’d fallen asleep in his arms, had flushed red a couple of times. Wasn’t that telling enough? There clearly was some attraction to him on her end, no matter how hard she tried to fight it. This would win her over. She’d owe him and he’d collect upon that debt.

 

Mudblood, the scar shouted. Mudblood, Mudblood, Mudblood.

 

He needed that hideous scar gone. He wanted to know if he could, if he truly was himself again. As in a trance, he curved his fingers around her arm, his fingertips within reach of the word that now thrummed through his mind: Mudblood, Mudblood, Mudblood.

 

‘Soon the pain will be gone,’ he whispered, placing the tip of his wand at the beginning of the letter M. Then, he began chanting as he tracked the letters with his wand over and over and over again. The lights in the room dimmed further with each repetition. The air around him was static with energy. His fingertips dug into her arm when she stirred, keeping it still at all cost. The letters flared brighter and brighter—soon, they were the sole light source in the room. Hermione whimpered, her legs shook. There was a bright flash upon the last redraw of Mudblood, and then, he eviscerated the word from her skin with the tip of his wand, leaving behind a white-hot burn.

 

He took a deep breath, moving his wand between his fingertips while he placed the palm of his hand on that white-hot burn. It sizzled and pain shot through him, but he kept his hand there, casting vehemently. Perspiration dripped from his brow, making him blink but not lose his focus. He continued to chant until he felt the temperature return to normal. Once the pain was completely gone, he removed his hand, triumphant at his success. Her skin was whole again, no trace remained of that cursed scar. He’d removed it all. He’d done it. He felt on top of the world. 

 

If only he weren’t so tired now. His eyelids fluttered; his arm dropped off the couch, but he never heard the soft clattering noise of his wand bouncing onto the floor. Sleep had already caught him.

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

 

She’d never felt so awake, alive and energetic upon waking in the morning. That was the first thing running through her mind. The second was that she apparently was lying on top of a sleeping Lord Voldemort. Hermione blinked. Had she seriously fallen asleep in his arms? Merlin, she needed a head exam, quickly. Though she tried to rise carefully, he still stirred and woke, too.

 

‘What time is it?’ he asked, looking up at her crouching figure.

 

‘Don’t know,’ she replied, putting her leg on the floor, ‘but it’s light so I presu—’ she stopped talking when her eyes fell upon a piece of unfamiliar wood. As quick as lightning she was off the couch and squatted down to get it, but her hand went straight through it. She couldn’t touch it.

 

‘Annoying when that happens, isn’t it?’ his voice stated dryly, while he calmly swung his legs off the couch and sat up.

 

Thinking rapidly, Hermione looked up, her eyes flickering between him and the wand she seemed unable to touch.

 

_Maybe if I touch him…_

 

Riddle seemed to have come to the same conclusion as her and moved, too. Fast, she reached out, not caring where she caught him as long as she did. He swatted her hand away twice, but eventually, she grabbed a hold of the front of his robes and held on. The wand became solid in her hand, just when his hand enveloped hers. He latched out, fingers curling around her neck.

 

Stalemate.

 

They squatted there, nose-to-nose, staring at each other, determined and unmoving.

 

‘You know this is pointless, right?’ Tom said.

 

‘How did you get this wand?’ Hermione hissed.

 

‘I’ve always had it and now _you_ are going to let go off it.’

 

‘I don’t think so.’

 

‘Be sensible. You can’t touch it without touching me. There is no way you’re going to be able to keep it, so let’s not do this.’

 

‘I have no intention on keeping it.’ _I’m going to destroy it._

 

‘Then I suppose you—’ Riddle said as a distraction. Swiftly letting go off her neck and hand, he used his freedom to push her backwards unexpectedly and smack her hand away from his robes.

 

‘Eek!’ Hermione yelped when she fell on her behind, clutching to the wand that slipped through her fingers like smoke. She scrambled up, trying to catch him, but he was already out of her reach, standing there smugly. Looking down in irritation, she contemplated her options.

 

‘You can’t sit there forever, Hermione,’ Tom said smoothly.

 

She gritted her teeth. She knew that! Crap.

 

Still, there was no harm in trying if she could magically destroy it. There were plenty of charms to solidify things after all. She pulled out her wand.

 

‘That’s not going to work,’ he said before she had a chance to cast.

 

‘You hope,’ she sneered, satisfied when she realised she was hitting right on the mark. ‘Why don’t you try and stop me?’ she tempted, hoping he’d be foolish enough to get within reach again.

 

‘Nice try, Hermione,’ he replied, winking at her.

 

It infuriated her beyond belief. How dare he stand there as if there weren’t a single care in the world!

 

However, Riddle’s hope came true. No matter what she cast, nothing seemed to affect the wand. She went through her entire repertoire of magical knowledge, but the only thing that she destroyed were her floorboards. It was a distinct blow to her pride when she had to admit defeat and had to watch him pocket it in his sleeve. Curious, she glanced sideways as he sat down next to her on the couch. How had he kept that pocket hidden? As if he knew what she was thinking, he held out his arm. Hermione raised her eyebrows.

 

‘Feel free to examine it,’ he said. ‘It’s clear you want to.’

 

‘Cocky, are we?’ she replied, taking a hold of the sleeve.

 

‘It’s not overly confident when one is correct. I’ve used these type of pockets for ages. They’ve stood up to the most intense scrutiny, the strongest wards, and as you may have noticed, your spectacularly wide array of Frisking Charms.’

 

Hermione frowned, fingering the sleeve. All she noticed was the fabric. She knew a thing or two about magically hidden pockets, but none were able to not show even the faintest hint of it. She folded the fabric double. This should be impossible. He had a wand there. Wands didn’t fold like that.

 

‘How did you achieve this?’ she asked admiringly.

 

‘It’s a combination of methods quite similar to your beaded bag and a personally created potion. I could teach you, at a price.’

 

‘Like what, my firstborn?’ she countered humorously.

 

He laughed. ‘Nothing that ominously. I simply have some questions I want answered. If you answer me truthfully, I’ll tell you how to create this.’

 

‘What kind of questions?’ Hermione asked suspiciously.

 

‘I’ve been in that orb for fifty-three years. Surely, you understand that I’m curious about what happened while I was in there?’

 

She leaned forwards, her hand under her chin, thinking. ‘I don’t know. Why don’t you tell me the questions first and I’ll think about it.’

 

‘How unsporting of you.’

 

She turned to face him. ‘I’m not letting you question me unconditionally over one magically enhanced pocket. You do see how utterly uneven that would be?’ she countered, smiling sardonically.

 

‘So state your terms.’

 

‘One question, and they’re only about the past.’

 

‘Ten, and I get to decide what they’re about.’

 

‘Not a chance.’

 

‘Okay, eight, and you can refuse to answer thrice if you don’t like the question.’

 

‘Make it five—with three refusals—and solely questions about the time you were in that orb.’

 

‘That leaves me with only two questions answered, dear.’

 

‘Really, I hadn’t thought of that.’

 

‘Three questions—three options of refusal but I get a new question instead—and they’re only about the past.’

 

‘Then you’d simply ask me three outrageous questions first and I’ll have to answer the three real ones after those.’

 

‘Really, I hadn’t thought of that.’

 

‘This isn’t working out. I’m going to take a shower,’ Hermione decided, getting up and walking away.

 

‘How are you feeling this morning?’

 

Startled by the change in subject, Hermione turned around with a bemused expression on her face.

 

‘I was wondering because you are extraordinarily chipper and awake without having drunk your first coffee.’

 

Hermione furrowed her brow. She really did feel very awake and energetic, not her normal start-up routine. Then again, she usually didn’t find herself fighting over a wand with Lord Voldemort first thing in the morning. ‘Must be that wonderful exercise routine of yours,’ she joked, turning away.

 

‘Well, I am magnificent,’ he replied haughtily.

 

She rolled her eyes while disappearing into her bedroom. She was about to close the door when Riddle said, ‘Final offer: two questions, solely about the past, no refusals. Think about it. I know you’re dying to find out how that pocket works, because once you do, you might be able to figure out how to get into mine.’

 

‘Ooooh, you are good,’ Hermione said, shaking her head in irritation before she closed the door with a bit more force than necessary.

 

‘Is that a yes?’

 

‘No!’ 

 

‘Your loss!’ Hermione heard him shout as she entered the bathroom.

 

She quickly turned on the tap of her shower and let it steam up her bathroom as she brushed her teeth and undressed next. The shower tap was charmed to pick the right temperature befitting her wishes at the time. And today, she really needed a nice hot shower. Quickly stepping under the warm water, she closed her eyes and allowed the water to soak her completely. This felt heavenly. She grabbed the shampoo and washed her hair. Then she grabbed the charmed washcloth and added soap to it. She stretched herself out under the shower, closing her eyes again, while the washcloth did its work on its own. It was times like these when she fully appreciated magic.

 

When she was done, she stood there for a while before closing the tap. She grabbed a charmed towel that began drying her immediately, while she administered her homemade Hair-Untangling Potion. It wasn’t a miracle potion, but it made sure she could at least comb her hair without a fuss. Ginny and Patty often asked her why she didn’t use Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion instead, but she just couldn’t be bothered. It was too much work to straighten it all out and she had got to appreciate her frizzy curls even when they could be a nightmare on damp or wet days. The towel flew into the hamper after having done its job and Hermione picked up her wand, freezing when her eyes fell on her left arm for the first time. Her scar was gone! How could it be gone?

 

_How are you feeling this morning?_

 

Oh Merlin, he didn’t just have a wand; he was able to perform magic with it, too! Why hadn’t he cast before, and why had he now, and why this?

 

She caressed the skin that used to feel rough, rigged, slightly warmer than the rest, and which continuously throbbed. To some extent, she’d got used to it, even though it was a constant presence in the background and there were days when it became exhausting. Actually, it was rather amazing she’d not noticed before that the pain was gone. It really was true that your brain couldn’t store the memory of pain. How fast she’d adapted to not feeling it.

 

Mesmerised, she checked out her arm. Now her skin felt smooth, similar to the rest of her arm, as if nothing had ever been wrong. How had he done that? There was no cure. She’d seen several specialist curse-breaking Healers, who had all told her the same thing: ‘You’ve just got to learn to live with it’. Their dismissive and condescending nature had been rather infuriating, and she’d jinxed two of the worst of them with a permanent itch so they had something to ‘learn to live with’, too. She whisked her wand. Her clothes appeared around her body and her hairbrush began doing its work as she pushed down her trousers and sat down on the toilet.

 

Why had he healed her arm? It made no sense. He would’ve been better off hiding his capabilities from her. She’d been convinced he couldn’t do magic because he’d not tried to curse her or anyone else once. And this was no beginner’s spell either. It was highly advanced magic, the kind she was sure he’d always been capable of when he was still a ‘normal human being’. She wondered if his magic was something that had sort of ‘grown back’ or if the ability to do it had always been there. This was troubling. More so because he’d healed her.

 

Why? She couldn’t wrap her mind around it. He was Lord Voldemort. Lord Voldemort wasn’t supposed to heal Mudbloods. Sure, they’d stopped constantly attacking each other when they’d realised it was pointless. And they did converse somewhat civilly lately, because when you were continuously in each other’s presence, it was rather impossible to keep up your animosity twenty-four/seven, especially with someone so handsome, charming and disarming. She sighed. He really was a good manipulator. Was that why he’d done it? So she’d lower her guard because he’d healed her? He should’ve known better. She wasn’t that easily fooled. Or maybe he wanted her to know he could perform magic on her as a threat? That actually made more sense to her. Arsehole.

 

 _An arsehole you now owe something_ , her mind added, making her groan. _An extraordinarily competent arsehole._

 

No, she didn’t like it one bit that he was able to perform magic. It put her at a severe disadvantage since her magic wasn’t taking hold on him. Why did his work on her? This was so unfair. What had she ever done to deserve this? She’d always been good, well most of the time, when it mattered, to nice people. So, why couldn’t she— Oh! The idea struck her like a bolt of lightning. She’d been lying on top of him; they’d been touching. As far as she could remember, she’d never tried to— Oh wait, she had. Well, that was disappointing. She’d already seen herself blasting Riddle into oblivion.

 

Then how come he could harm her?

 

 _Wait_ , she thought slowly.

 

 _Wait, wait, wait_ , she added excitedly as she realised the answer. He hadn’t harmed her. His spell had healed, helped her. So that had to be it. Perhaps she could cast on him if her spells were useful to Riddle. Well, bummer, that was useless.

 

_Helping Lord Voldemort? Over my dead body._

_But you owe him,_ a sing-song voice sang in the back of her mind.

 

 _I don’t,_ she countered stubbornly. _I never asked him to do this. I handled myself perfectly fine with that blasted scar. Besides, it’s his fault I got it in the first place._

 

She rubbed her arm. Now that she had noticed that the pain was gone, she could fully appreciate its disappearance. Was this why she was feeling so much more energetic this morning? It had to be. She’d never been a slow starter at Hogwarts, always up at the crack of dawn.

 

Sighing, she cleaned herself and got off the loo, washing her hands in the sink. She didn’t look forward to returning to her living room. Undoubtedly, Riddle would realise she had to have seen her lacking scar now, and he was bound to expect some sort of genuflection.

 

‘In his dreams,’ she muttered, straightening out and walking back into the living room in a brisk pace.

 

‘Whoa!’ Hermione exclaimed, staring at Riddle with her mouth ajar.

 

‘What?’ he asked, bemused, frowning when he realised his voice sounded a lot higher.

 

‘Have you checked yourself in any mirrors lately?’

 

‘How am I supposed to do that?’ he said, looking at her as if she were an idiot. 

 

Hermione growled, walking towards him and grabbing his arm. She pulled him with her to her standing mirror and whipped out her wand. Before he had the chance to open his mouth about it, her spells impacted on him and the mirror. Then, she quietly stepped back. Slowly, his outline became clear and he gasped, leaning forward to check out his alien, extremely white face up close. He raised his hands, touching his absentee nose and the slit-for-nostrils and his bald skull, muttering, ‘No hair for potions as I’ve always planned.’

 

Then, he stepped back, swirling left and right in his long black robes to examine himself from every angle. After raising a non-existent eyebrow at the lack of footwear, he patted his even skinnier body before looking at his unnaturally long fingers. Once again, he faced the mirror. His face lit up, and he smiled brightly. This was who he truly was.

 

‘Enjoying your new look?’

 

He swirled around enthusiastically. ‘This is me. This is who I am: Lord Voldemort, the greatest wizard of all time. Not that disgusting Muggle filth.’

 

‘Is that why you changed your appearance, so you wouldn’t look like your absent father anymore?’

 

He whirled on her so fast that she didn’t have time to react before he had her pinned against the breakfast bar. ‘What do you know about that?’ he hissed, his slit-for-nostrils flaring while his snake-like face was almost pressed against hers.

 

Hermione swallowed, turning quite cold.

 

‘Tell me,’ he ordered, shaking her.

 

‘Only what Dumbledore told us.’

 

Tom sniffed in annoyance. ‘And what did the meddling old coot tell you?’

 

‘Just that your mother bewitched your father with Amortentia and that he left after she stopped administering it even though she was pregnant with you. And that you searched him out during a summer holiday and killed him and your grandparents. And that he … er … he—’ She bit her lip, pretty sure this wasn’t going to fall well. ‘—he looked precisely like you.’

 

‘He’s nothing like me,’ Riddle sneered. Hermione winced slightly when his fingernails dug deep into her arms, but she tried to keep her cool as best as possible. ‘He’s a disgusting, useless piece of Muggle filth and don’t you ever dare mention him to me again.’

 

‘O-okay.’ Those fierce, red eyes’ slit pupils narrowed into thin stripes, but she was done with his intimidation. ‘I won’t mention your father if you keep your Muggle-hating vitriol to yourself. Considering that my parents are Muggles, I would really appreciate that.’

 

‘I don’t understand how you can be so proud of your inferior blood.’

 

‘Is that why you removed my scar, so you wouldn’t have to be constantly reminded of my alleged “inferiority”?’ she asked, making quotation marks with her fingers in the air.

 

His wand pressed in the hollow of her throat in a flash. Hermione let out a laugh. ‘Oh please, if you could’ve cursed me with something serious, you’d have done it yesterday after I’d fallen asleep. So don’t even try and intimidate me, it’s not going to work. I’ve had it up to here with your stupid antics.’

 

She gave him a firm push, and he stumbled backwards. ‘You dare?’ he hissed, clutching to his wand.

 

‘Yes, I dare,’ Hermione said angrily, pounding on him. ‘I’ve dared a hell of a lot more than this. You’re so pathetic. For someone with such alleged superior intellect, you surely have some major issues using rational thought processes. Now unless you want to hear me lecture you about Muggle rights and equality for as long as you’re around me, you’d best keep your stupid, idiotic bigotry to yourself. Seriously, that fools like Crabbe, Goyle and Malfoy think themselves above others based on nothing is one thing, but I can’t believe that someone with your abilities would buy into that pureblood-Mudblood nonsense when there is zero evidence for it. Zero! And don’t even try one of those silly speeches of yours about stealing their precious magic on me. We both know that’s bull. And even if it weren’t, then tell me, how could a measly Mudblood like me steal magic from such a superior pureblood being? Wouldn’t such an act automatically prove their inferiority?’ she snarled.

 

Voldemort smirked. ‘So nice to see you finally admitting your superiority to them. You have no idea how nauseating your humility is at times.’

 

‘Nauseating, me? ME?! You unbelievable—’ Hermione swung her hand at him, but he caught it before it would slap into his face. He then quickly grabbed her other arm that was already in motion to finish the job. ‘—foul, loathsome, evil cockroach!’

 

 _Cockroach?_ he mouthed, simultaneously amused and bewildered as he tried to keep the furiously struggling witch under control.

 

‘Yes, vermin, now how do _you_ like that comparison? Do you have any idea what it feels like to hear those whispers behind your back? “Go away, Mudblood. You don’t belong here. You’re nothing.” Do you have any idea how much it costs to fight that stupid bigotry every single day even though you’ve got friends that stick up for you? Do you have any idea how much I had to fight that? How much unnecessary pressure that put on me? I was the best student of my year, but every time I got an “O”, I’d hear whispers of favouritism or that I’d cheated. Well, I didn’t need to cheat, unlike those stupid moronic bigots. I’m smart. I’m good at what I do, and I’m sick of this bullshit. So, let go off me right now or I swear to whatever is holy, I will find a way to hurt you so badly, you’d wish you’d stayed inside that blasted orb forever!’ she yelled, angry tears falling from her eyes.

 

‘Calm down,’ he ordered quietly, tightening his grip on her, but she was beyond herself and only fought him harder.

 

The distinctive yellow colour of the Soothing Charm impacted on her body. Hermione swayed on her feet, her eyes glazing over; her arms went still. Tom loosened his grip, just holding her enough so she wouldn’t keel over as he quietly observed her, watching her blink several times before coming back to herself. Then he let go and she took a couple of steps back, leaning against the bar. Hermione took a deep breath, staring down at something that wasn’t there.

 

 _What the hell? Where did that come from?_ she thought, confused. ‘I—I—’

 

‘It’s all right. You don’t have to say anything,’ Tom said softly.

 

She looked up sharply. ‘I—’ Her eyes flickered over his body in surprise. ‘Your face! Everything! It’s back to how it was before.’

 

‘Is it?’ he replied, shrugging uncaringly. ‘What were you going to say?’

 

‘That I wasn’t going to apologise.’

 

He tilted his head back and let out a full-throated laugh. ‘You apologising, that’ll be the day,’ he said, sniggering.

 

‘I have nothing to apologise for,’

 

‘I think we’d better leave it at that or we’ll go another ten rounds before tomorrow. Just tell me, was that all that that Mug— Did Dumbledore tell you anything else about me that I may need to correct?’

 

‘No,’ Hermione said calmly, knowing that, technically, it wasn’t a lie. Albus Dumbledore had never told her anything personally.

 

‘I see. The convenient York Notes version à la Albus Dumbledore. How utterly unsurprising.’

 

Hermione waited expectantly, but there wasn’t anything else coming and she didn’t feel like pressing the matter. She’d enough excitement for one day. She scratched her head uncomfortably.

 

‘Your reaction when you saw me,’ Tom said.

 

‘What about it?’

 

‘You were surprised I’d changed, but not at what I’d changed into.’

 

‘Oh,’ she uttered, understanding what he meant to ask, ‘it’s what you turn into later in life, when you were much, _much_ older,’ she couldn’t help adding that somewhat snidely, giving his fear of death.

 

‘Really?’ he said, undeterred. ‘How much older?’

 

‘What am I, a walking Voldemort encyclopaedia? I don’t know. I know you resurrected like this at the end of my fourth year at Hogwarts, but I don’t know how you looked before that.’

 

‘Resurrected?’

 

Hermione pressed her lips together, annoyed at herself. She really needed to watch herself around him better. He was excellent at weaselling out tiny titbits of information that all together would complete the biggest jigsaw puzzle around.

 

‘I don’t recall saying yes to your two questions deal.’

 

‘You can’t blame me for trying,’ he said with a wink.

 

‘I’m not. I blame myself for not watching my big mouth before.’ Her stomach growled loudly.

 

‘I think you should eat something,’ Tom said.

 

‘Gee, Mr Obvious, thanks for the advice,’ Hermione replied humorously.

 

‘Anything to help,’ he countered with a dashing smile. ‘Be careful when you walk. The effects of a Soothing Charm diminish slowly; you may still be a bit unsteady on your feet.’

 

‘I know,’ she replied, walking towards her kitchen with her hand on the breakfast bar for support. As she made herself a sandwich, she suddenly said, ‘Thanks by the way.’

 

Surprised, Tom looked in her direction. ‘For what?’

 

‘You know, for removing that scar and for helping me calm down.’

 

‘You’re welcome.’

 

Hermione smiled. Of course he wouldn’t say ‘no need’. That just wasn’t in him. ‘Why do you think you changed into an older version of yourself without knowing how you looked? I mean it’s not like changing into clothes that you like. You know their appearance,’ she pondered, turning around and taking a bite of her bacon-and-ham sandwich.

 

‘I have no idea,’ Tom replied honestly. ‘I didn’t feel myself change, which is quite similar to the way when I think about dressing into something else. So, I don’t think it was something that occurred magically. I’d know if that were the case. Besides, I don’t even understand why I am the way I am now. I was supposed to return fully corporeal out of that orb.’

 

‘Maybe it’s due to that then, because you didn’t become corporeal.’

 

‘Hmm… could be,’ he said, pondering.

 

‘Would that mean you could turn into any shape you had at any age at any given time?’ Hermione added questioningly.

 

Horrified, Tom stared at her. ‘I do hope not since I don’t fancy turning back into a toddler or worse, but it does sound logical.’

 

‘And you have no idea what triggered it?’ she asked, covering her full mouth with her hand.

 

He shrugged.

 

‘Maybe if you hadn’t screwed around with all those Horcruxes, the orb would’ve resurrected you as you expected.’

 

‘Maybe it would be wiser for you not to remind me of the destruction of my Horcruxes, considering your involvement.’

 

Hermione stuck out her tongue.

 

‘Are you seriously sticking out your tongue at me?’

 

‘What, nobody ever dared to?’

 

‘I daresay, no.’

 

‘Tough.’

 

‘You’re crazy, Granger.’

 

‘Takes one to know one.’

 

They spent the rest of the day talking about various subjects. When Hermione finally went to bed, Tom quietly said, ‘I do know, you know.’

 

She turned around, her eyebrows raised.

 

‘What it’s like.’

 

‘Oh.’ It was all Hermione knew what to say when she realised he was commenting on her outburst from this morning. She just looked at him and that blank expression on his face, waiting for more.

 

‘Sleep tight, Hermione,’ Tom said, lying down on the couch and turning away from her.

 

She bit her lip, disappointed. ‘Sleep tight, Tom,’ she finally said.

 

A calculating glint darted through his black eyes when he heard the bedroom door close behind her. Things had progressed far more favourably for him than he’d expected yesterday. Prolonged physical contact seemed to be the key to his problem, and considering how she’d reacted around him today, his chances of success had most definitely turned for the better. He’d always known compassion was a weakness one could not afford to have. Granger was proving his point quite adequately.

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

Time seemed to fly by. They were in her office for yet another day, Hermione busy with the parchments on her desk and Tom lounging in the windowsill, when he suddenly said, ‘There is more to life than pushing paper.’

 

Hermione groaned. ‘Are we going to have that discussion again?’

 

‘I am just saying that you’re wasting your time here. You could do so much more.’

 

‘I’m not wasting my time. As you’ve seen I’ve changed plenty of laws, enhanced the lives of many who were oppressed, and made this department the smoothest functioning government operation in the United Kingdom.’

 

‘Yes, and now that you achieved all that, all you do is fall into the silly routine of putting your signature on the new laws your department is drafting up, going to boring meetings and giving guidance and advice to your employees.’ He yawned. ‘Boring.’

 

‘I don’t care what you think. I find the law fascinating. What we do here impacts everyone’s life. I couldn’t give it up even if I wanted to, which I don’t. I like my job, and I don’t care that you find that incomprehensible.’

 

‘I think you like your job because it’s safe. It’s what you excel at. You’re secure in it. You don’t have to worry about failure because there is no challenge. You’ve outgrown it ages ago. You’re just staying because you’re scared of change. Not very Gryffindor-like if you ask me.’

 

‘I’m not scared of change,’ Hermione started but a knock on her door interrupted her. ‘Enter!’

 

‘Sorry to disturb you,’ Marcel said, looking around confused. ‘Oh, I thought you had company.’

 

‘No, I often talk out loud to myself,’ Hermione said, smiling. ‘It helps me think.’

 

‘I do that, too.’

 

‘So what can I help you with, Marcel?’

 

‘The new Auror shifts are causing some personnel problems. We seem unable to fill in all the slots. I know this isn’t really a part of your job, and I’d normally ask Harry, but he’s on vacation as you know and his replacement doesn’t have a clue how to fix this.’

 

Riddle let out a very exaggerated yawn.

 

‘Let me see,’ Hermione said kindly, holding out her hand to accept the parchment and ignoring Riddle who was dramatically pretending to fall asleep now. She didn’t see Marcel shifting on his feet nervously as if he were trying to gather the courage for something else. ‘Oh, here it is, you forgot to factor in the new recruits who start next week after leaving Hogwarts.’

 

‘Of course,’ Marcel said, slapping his forehead. ‘How stupid of me.’

 

‘You don’t say,’ Riddle commented.

 

‘Thank you, Hermione. You really are brilliant.’

 

‘You’re welcome, Marcel,’ she said, focusing back on her paperwork.

 

‘Clueless,’ Riddle said.

 

She looked up and glared in his direction. He wasn’t going to disrespect her employees if she had something to say about it.

 

‘I meant you,’ Riddle said, nodding towards the still present Marcel.

 

‘Oh, Marcel, sorry, is there anything else you need?’

 

‘Well, I—I got two tickets for the next Championship match between Montrose Magpies and Tutshill Tornados,’ Marcel said awkwardly.

 

‘Really? Lucky you,’ Hermione said cheerfully. ‘I’ve heard Ron complain to Ginny for ages that she didn’t get him tickets to that one. You know it’s bound to be an exciting match. Both teams are so equally matched, they’re already betting it might break the record of the longest match ever. You know, you should ask Maggie from the Wizengamot Administrative Services. I’m pretty sure she fancies you,’ Hermione said, beaming at him.

 

‘She does?’ Marcel said, red-faced.

 

‘Completely clueless,’ Riddle muttered.

 

‘Yes, ask her, Marcel. She’ll say yes, I know it,’ Hermione said, nodding encouraging at him before focusing back on her paperwork

 

‘Oh, okay,’ he replied, disappointment spread over his face as he quietly retreated out of the office.

 

Riddle closed his eyes and groaned, banging his head against the wood panelling behind him.

 

‘What?’ Hermione snapped.

 

‘“You should ask Maggie. I’m pretty sure she fancies you”,’ he mimicked, exasperatedly.

 

‘She does. I overheard her in the cafeteria once.’

 

‘Sweet Salazar! He was trying to ask you out, Dumbo.’

 

‘No,’ she said disbelievingly.

 

‘Yes.’

 

‘Oh.’ Hermione looked back at her work before saying, ‘Well, I only saved him a rejection. It’s not like I could go out with him. He works for me.’

 

Riddle snorted.

 

‘What? What!’ she exclaimed when he started laughing.

 

‘Oh get real, Granger. You always have some excuse when a bloke asks you out. You never go anywhere; you just work, go home, eat, read and sleep and that’s it.’

 

‘Yeah, because dating would be so much fun with you tagging along, commenting on every single detail,’ she snarled. ‘You know I used to have a life.’

 

‘You? Pfffttt… you’re duller than Dippet.’

 

‘I am not dull.’

 

‘Then prove it. Do something fun for a change; go out; live,’ he challenged. ‘I’m betting you’ll bail at the first possible opportunity.’

 

‘You don’t think I could date someone?’

 

‘Granger, you do nothing but reject blokes before you’ve even tried them out. Granted some of them are remarkably uninteresting, but you’re not exactly winning the excitement award either.’

 

‘I can be very exciting,’ she snapped, slamming her hands on her desk in aggravation. ‘Maybe I’m just boring around you, because of your constant incessant yapping.’

 

‘I’ll keep my mouth shut and you won’t even know I’m there.’

 

‘Hah!’ she laughed. ‘That’ll be the day.’

 

‘Looking for excuses not to do it again? Sure, blame me all you want, but it’s your life you’re wasting away, Miss Boring.’

 

‘I’m not boring.’

 

‘You so are.’

 

‘Am not.’

 

‘Are too.’

 

‘You’re such a childish baby at times,’ she snapped, leaning back in her chair and turning away.

 

‘I knew you’d chicken out. Bok, bok, bok, bok,’ he taunted, flapping with his arms.

 

Hermione buried her head underneath her arms on her desk. If anyone had ever told her that one day, Lord Voldemort would be hopping through her office making chicken noises, she would’ve had them hospitalised. The trouble was that he’d hit a sensitive nerve. She hadn’t dated anyone after Ron and she had broken up. Even though there had been a couple of suitors, she’d held them off, wanting to focus on her career. And after she’d got that career, she felt more comfortable going places with her old friends. She’d gone on a couple of dates with men that Ginny had set her up with, but those dates had been such a disaster that she didn’t want to revisit it. When she didn’t know people, she was so socially awkward that it was embarrassing. She really didn’t feel like dating anyone. She didn’t!

 

However, she also didn’t want Riddle to think he’d won or have him thinking he was right about her being dull. She wasn’t dull. She was an independent strong witch who could handle anything, including a couple of stupid dates.

 

‘All right,’ she said, rising. ‘You’ve got yourself a deal. I’ll go on dates, but you better make yourself scarce.’

 

Smirking, Riddle extended his hand. ‘Deal,’ he said as they shook on it.

 

Finally, he’d get the chance to see more of the world than her workplace, the shops and her flat. If Granger were suitably distracted, he might be able to do something to improve his situation.

 

 

 

xxx

 

Amused, Riddle saw Granger go on date after date after date as if she were proving something to him. Of course, it didn’t bother him at all that she was laughing and snogging other men. He took advantage of those moments to hang around other people, listening in on their conversations and checking out any information he’d been unable to obtain when she’d been so house bound. Now that she went places, he could go anywhere within a certain distance of her. He’d sneaked into many buildings next to the ones she was in. Without her knowledge, he’d become capable of touching small objects. It only lasted for a couple of seconds, but it was encouraging. He was making progress even though there were still large gaps in his knowledge. But someday, he’d be who he had been again. And then, the world would pay for disobeying him.

 

However, now they seemed to be going back to her place. That hideous, obnoxious, stupid, boring twat she was on a first date with was escorting her home. He rolled his eyes. As if Granger needed protection. He seriously hoped she wouldn’t invite that idiot in. He didn’t think he could stand having to listen to that insipid moron babble some more about his uninteresting life and his card collection. It was even worse because he had to stay silent or he’d lose their bet. Sometimes he wondered if Granger picked these dolts to irritate him so much that he’d be forced to open his mouth and make a scathing remark, but he didn’t think she was that devious. Besides, she had to listen to them more than him and react. If she did it to torture him, she surely was biting herself in the arse with that strategy.

 

Oh Merlin, the dolt was going up the stairs with her.

 

Riddle banged his head against the wall, wishing he could just vanish into thin air. He’d been sure she’d not liked this bloke from her barely veiled, bored reactions to his constant babbling about himself. Why had she asked him in?

 

‘The phone is on the mantel,’ Hermione said, pointing to it.

 

‘Thank you. I can’t believe I forgot my mobile. My mum must be out of herself with worry.’

 

Great, another Mudblood. Just because he could tolerate her didn’t mean he should be exposed to more of them. Blasted insects.

 

‘No problem,’ Hermione said politely.

 

Riddle plunked on the couch, bored. He really hoped that bloke would piss off soon. Hermione met his eyes and winked deviously. Then she turned to her company. ‘Can I get you something to drink?’ she asked sweetly.

 

Too sweetly.

 

Riddle narrowed his eyes at her. That little shite was doing this deliberately. She’d noticed how much he loathed this one. He bit his tongue, determined not to make any comments.

 

‘Oh, lovely, some firewhiskey please.’

 

‘Sorry, I don’t have strong liquor in my house. Coffee, tea, milk, lemonade, Butterbeer…?’ she trailed off.

 

‘Coffee is fine,’ the insignificant leech said, smiling. ‘She’s not answering.’ He put down the phone. ‘I’ll try again later.’

 

‘Sure,’ Hermione said, handing him the coffee.

 

‘This is coffee is perfect,’ he complimented after taking one sip. ‘And you’re very beautiful.’

 

‘Thanks. You’re very kind.’

 

Riddle stood up, walking to the alcove and muffling his mouth with his fist. He really needed earplugs.

 

‘Ermm…’ he heard Hermione say. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t think this is a good idea.’

 

Tom looked over his shoulder. That obnoxious twat was holding Hermione around the waist and attempted to kiss her, while she leaned back.

 

‘Oh come on, you know you want to.’

 

Tom raised his eyebrows and sat down, crossing his arms and stretching out his legs. Suddenly, the evening had a chance of turning out entertaining after all.

 

‘Excuse me?’ Hermione snapped, pushing him away hardly.

 

As he thought, this would be quite the show. He should sell tickets.

 

‘Oh, don’t be like this. You asked me in,’ the soon-to-be-dead idiot moved back to Hermione to Tom’s utmost amusement.

 

‘You said you needed to call your mum. Let me guess, some stupid excuse to get inside?’ Hermione snarled, pressing her wand in the fool’s chest right when he was about to touch her again.

 

‘Playing hard to get, are we? I don’t mind a challenge,’ he said, making an attempt to grab her wand and finding himself blasted off his feet. He smashed into the couch with his legs, tippling backwards and tumbling over the backrest, feet in the air, collapsing onto the floor and crying out in pain.

 

Tom snorted, unable to refrain from laughing now.

 

Hermione glared at him.

 

‘Doesn’t count,’ he said, still laughing. ‘You can’t say this is still a date. And you never said I couldn’t comment on a battle.’

 

‘Just shut up,’ she said.

 

‘You fucking, frigid bitch, you broke my wrist!’ The guy scrambled to his feet, holding his arm tightly. It did stand at an odd angle.

 

‘Nice,’ Riddle commented.

 

Hermione flicked her wand at the front door. ‘Get out.’

 

‘You’ll pay for this, Granger. I’ll make you pay!’

 

‘Whatever,’ she said dismissively, turning away from him.

 

Riddle’s eyes widened and his wand was in his hand when the Imperius Curse impacted on Granger. The bloke kicked the door to with his foot and he leaned against it, still holding his broken wrist in his hand despite the wand he had pointed at Hermione. ‘Come here, you slut,’ the bloke ordered.

 

Riddle was about to move forwards, too, when he saw Granger’s eyes as she turned around like an automaton. He smirked, sitting down again. _Nice act_ , he mouthed.

 

Hermione stopped right in front of the fool who hadn’t even ordered her to drop her wand. Riddle shook his head over so much stupidity. It was one thing not to notice your Imperius Curse wasn’t catching on at all, but another to leave an enemy armed.

 

‘Unzip my trousers.’

 

Hermione complied like a robot. It was an impeccable performance, Riddle had to give her that. He filed said knowledge away, just in case he ever had to Imperius her.

 

‘Pull out my cock, bitch.’

 

She reached her hand inside his trousers, pulling his underwear down.

 

‘I’m going to fuck you in every orifice available, starting with your arse and then I’ll let you lick it clean wi—AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!’

 

He collapsed to his knees, hands clutching to his bleeding crotch, screaming in agony as Hermione coolly stepped back with all of his genitals in hand. They were blackening in her hand as dark magic swirled around her. Riddle watched interested at the completely detached manner in which she tossed the ruined body parts to the floor in front of the delirious man. He reached for it as if they could still be reattached, still be saved, which Riddle knew was impossible given the curse Granger had used.

 

Without his hand pressing to his groin, blood sprayed even harder from it and Hermione’s attacker collapsed on his side, his face white. He’d stopped screaming, barely breathing, and passed out. He was on the brink of death when Granger stopped the bleeding.

 

‘You can’t keep him alive,’ Riddle commented quietly. ‘He’ll turn you in.’

 

‘He won’t be able to,’ Hermione said coolly, pointing her wand. ‘Obliviate!’

 

‘That’ll work, too.’

 

‘Glad you approve,’ she said snidely.

 

‘I do. It’s a very fitting punishment.’

 

‘I’ll be right back.’ She tapped her wand on top of her head and her attacker’s, using a Disillusionment Charm to make them both invisible.

 

With a crack, she Disapparated.

 

Riddle braced himself. Within seconds, he’d be hauled through space to her new location since she’d not put up her special wards. It was never a pleasant experience. The first time it had happened, he’d been dry-heaving for what seemed forever. 

 

_Crack!_

 

The telling noise alerted him that the Disillusioned Hermione had reappeared. She shimmered back into visibility, wand in hand. With a flick of her wrist, she swiftly cleaned up the bloody mess on the floor and her clothes. Another flick and the mug the bloke had used was vanquished. She swiftly erected her wards. Then, she pocketed her wand and grabbed her coffee, calmly drinking it. Riddle observed her utterly collected demeanour and complete lack of distress.

 

She’d be an excellent follower if only he could persuade her. Too bad she was not following material. He just couldn’t see it in her. She was a born leader.

 

Partner then?

 

He couldn’t even believe he was considering it, but what he’d just seen her do had turned him on so badly that he was glad he was wearing wide robes. He was pretty sure now was not the time to come on to Hermione. He kind of valued keeping his private parts attached to his body.

 

She had the mug still positioned against her lips when she said, ‘You had your wand out.’

 

Tom shifted uncomfortably. He’d hoped that wouldn’t come up. ‘Yes,’ he merely said.

 

‘Why?’

 

‘I figured if I touched you, I could curse the bastard.’

 

‘Yes, I got that part, but why? You never minded killings and tortures. Why would you bother?’

 

 _Because you’re mine._ ‘I never liked rapists,’ he said blankly.

 

She looked at him contemplatively. It made him uneasy because she gave him the same feeling Dumbledore had always given him, as if she saw straight through him. He really did detest rapists, but it wasn’t the reason he’d wanted to stop this one.

 

‘So you do have some boundaries?’ she teased, sipping her coffee.

 

‘Oh please, don’t even attempt to go there, Granger.’

 

She laughed. ‘Do I look delusional to you?’

 

It was a rhetorical question, so he didn’t answer, waiting for her next move.

 

She placed the mug on her bar with a clank and gained a mischievous twinkle in her eyes before she asked, ‘Tell me, was this evening exciting enough for you?’

 

‘Well,’ he said, pausing tactically, ‘it’s nice to see the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement issue her judgement swiftly. All that paperwork can be such a drag,’ he smirked at her.

 

Hermione shook her head, smiling. ‘You’re never going to stop nagging about my job, are you?’

 

‘Not when you have the potential to be so much more.’

 

‘We are on complete different pages as to what is considered more.’

 

‘After what I saw here tonight, I beg to differ.’

 

They silently gazed at each other.

 

‘I’m not getting into this,’ Hermione said finally. ‘I’m going to bed. I’ve got to be up in less than four hours.’

 

‘Cast a harmless spell with your wand first,’ Riddle said.

 

Hermione looked over her shoulder at him.

 

‘People saw you with that shithead at the bar, and I think Potter knows you well enough to put two and two together. You’ll be sorry you didn’t do it now if they bang on your door in the middle of the night.’

 

Hermione flicked her wand at her dishes, cleaning them. ‘Happy now?’

 

‘Very much so.’

 

‘Paranoid bastard,’ she muttered.

 

He snorted. ‘Coming from the one who keeps such close taps on me, that’s rich.’

 

‘Well, _you_ cannot be trusted,’ she said, walking into her bedroom.

 

It was the first time she didn’t close the door behind her.

 

 

 

xxx

 

Though he didn’t understand how she could possibly stand all these dull meetings she had to go to, they were utterly convenient, Riddle considered as he flew back in vapour form to her office from his little trip to the Department of Mysteries. He’d discovered that changing his appearance was related to his mood. If he made himself feel something strongly, he was able to shift to whatever form he’d ever had. He still preferred his snakelike, bald and eerie shape over any other—it exuded power, demanded attention and made it clear he was more than a measly human being.

 

Still, he’d mostly kept to his appearance as he’d come out of the orb, thinking Hermione reacted most positively to that one. He didn’t even want to consider what was the deal with that strange baby-like form and being a tiara also wasn’t on the list of useful things to turn into. Tom shivered, flowing through the cracks of Hermione’s closed office door. When he’d discovered this vapour-like shape, completely invisible and fluid in the air, he’d been beyond himself. This was so useful for clandestine missions. He also liked that he was capable of turning into a big King Cobra, but the snake would’ve been more fun if he’d actually been able to scare and bite people. Alas, since he was not, he didn’t see the point of it.

 

Perhaps one day he could freak Hermione out with it. He sniggered to himself, until he realised she probably wouldn’t be bothered. Most likely he’d find himself in a terrarium before he could even show his fangs at her. The little witch always thought rapidly on her feet and had a huge amount of self-control, never breaking down until it was safe—quite an admirable trait in his opinion.

 

Once fully inside her office, he shifted back to his ‘Tom Riddle’ form and walked to the charmed window. Hermione always had interesting scenery to look at, though he’d never admit that to her. She really was brilliant, always taking even the tiniest details—such as enhancing a charmed window—under consideration. He clasped his hands behind his back and began admiring the latest Astronomy thesis displayed in the stars when the door opened and a melodious voice asked, ‘Oh, Hermione isn’t in?’

_Talk about stating the obvious_ , he thought, annoyed, turning around and looking at the dreamy blonde with giant sunflowers dangling from her ears. Her faint eyebrows gave her an almost constant surprised expression, but he was unnerved by her focus. Those silvery grey eyes stared straight at him and he wondered if she ever blinked.

 

‘You are also waiting for her?’ she asked.

_She could see him?_

‘No,’ he said, deciding to put it to the test. ‘I just love staring at charmed windows,’ he said snidely.

 

‘Oh yes, they are beautiful. Has it shown the Oompa Loompas yet?’

 

‘Those are fictional creatures,’ Tom corrected.

 

‘Oh many think so, but Mr Dahl often reported what he’d seen on his magical travels under the disguise of children’s fiction. I’m surprised the ministry lets him get away with it. It’s quite a breach of the Statute of Secrecy,’

 

‘They’re not real. Nobody but Dahl ever sees these “wonderful” beings.’

 

‘Only those who’re not willing to look beyond what’s right in front of them,’ Luna said, cheery.

 

Tom scratched the back of his head. Was this one somewhat mentally challenged? Next thing she’d tell him Charlie from the chocolate factory was real. He snorted, unable to contain his amusement.

 

‘So have you seen Hermione?’

 

‘I’m afraid she’s at a meeting next-door.’

 

‘Oh perfect.’

 

‘And can’t be disturbed!’ he yelled fruitlessly after the crazy one, wondering why he even bothered.

 

‘Hello hard-working ministry people,’ Tom overheard her say, and he groaned. _Definitely mental, that one._

But she’d seen him. What if others now could, too? He would have to flee, which he couldn’t. Blasted connection! He looked back at the charmed window and noticed he still wasn’t visible in its reflection. So, how did that crazy broad see him? Maybe only mental patients could?

 

‘Luna, what are you doing here?’ Hermione asked.

 

Tom sniggered, considering Hermione as such. It would explain her free the house-elves obsession.

 

‘Neville asked me to bring you this in person and tell you he’s not taking no for an answer.’

 

‘Whatever happened to owls?’

 

‘You tend to rsvp that you can’t make it and owl your gifts. I’m here to say that’s not an option this time.’

 

Hermione laughed. ‘I am reading the scary threat right here. I could’ve him arrested.’

 

‘Ah, Harry said you’d say that and asked me to relay that the Auror office has actual business to attend to and will supply you with an escort if you fail to show.’

 

‘Oh, it’s a conspiracy, a criminal organisation at the highest governmental levels,’ Hermione joked.

 

‘Yes, and we’re all in on it, so don’t think you’ve got any options to bail. We still have our DA coins and can round up quite a large number to drag you there.’

 

‘All right, all right. Tell Neville that I’ll be in Hogsmeade for his birthday party next Saturday.’

 

‘Okay, I will. Bye lovely people. You’ve got Fubblewubbles swarming your head, Mister.’

 

‘What?’ a scared voice asked.

 

‘Don’t worry, I’ll deal with them,’ Hermione said, sounding dismissively. ‘Is that all, Luna? Because we do need to finish this meeting.’

 

‘Oh yes, of course, got distracted. Bye.’ A door closed and the woman named Luna came back in sight, stopping in front of the opened office door and looking back at him. ‘You know you should gather some Rudolph Reindeer Boogies Draught to stop that curse on you. Santa doesn’t know how to counter his own. Though you should’ve known better than to get involved with the likes of him, he’s a very dark wizard.’

 

_What?!_

 

Not only could she see him, but she knew who he’d been involved with to gain this body. Who the hell was this broad?

 

However, when he rushed out the office, she was nowhere to be seen anymore. A ministerial employee walked straight through him. That always was a disconcerting experience, as if he didn’t matter. Getting out of the crowded hallway, he walked back into the office.

 

_Rudolph Reindeer Boogies Draught?_

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

 

Riddle had thought for sure the experience with the bloke who’d tried to rape her would be the end of Hermione’s dating and his inevitable win with regards to their bet. He’d already decided that his reward would be her answering his two questions. He’d smirked at the thought of the look on her face when she would realise she had to answer him without getting the knowledge of how his secret pocket worked in return.

 

However, Granger seemed to be not that easily deterred. What was even worse was that this new bloke, Evangolius (who named his child that?) seemed to have caught her fancy. He had no idea why. The man couldn’t have an IQ over fifty, and he’d never thought Granger was one to go on looks alone. But this was the fifth date she’d been on with the brainless pretty boy, and no matter how many ‘happy thoughts’ he sent in Evangolius’s direction, the bloke just wouldn’t keel over and die on him.

 

So, now he was locked in the bathroom, while they were going at it in the bedroom. She’d dared lock Lord Voldemort in her bathroom. He clenched his hands to fists. The insolent little chit. Sure, he could shift into vapour and leave, but that would give away his secret.

 

‘Oh, God, you are so tight.’

 

All right, he had enough of this. Hermione Jean Granger would find out what it meant to disrespect Lord Voldemort.

 

Using his anger, he shifted to vapour and flew through the cracks. They were on the bed, Evangolius pumping rapidly unaware a bored Hermione looked sideways at her alarm clock. Riddle materialised right next to her on the bed, lying sideways, with his face in her direction. ‘Need some expert help there?’ he taunted.

 

The effect was spectacular. She’d never screamed so loud in her life, pushing Evangolius off of her and jumping out of the bed, grasping her wand of her nightstand and clothing herself with a flick before pocketing the wand in her dressing gown.

 

‘Wha-what?’ Evangolius stuttered, confused.

 

‘This isn’t working,’ Hermione said, taking in a deep breath to calm herself. ‘Just go.’

 

‘Did I do something wrong?’ Evangolius asked.

 

Tom snorted. ‘Just about everything.’

 

‘Did I hurt you?’ Evangolius added before Hermione had a chance to respond. He seemed genuinely concerned.

 

‘With that boring routine, highly unlikely,’ Tom commented.

 

‘Shut up, you impossible, arrogant piece of—’ she stopped yelling and shaking her fist at Tom when she saw Evangolius’s bemused staring. Taking another deep breath, Hermione turned to her previous bed partner and said, ‘I’m sorry, Evan, this isn’t working out for me. You better go.’

 

Evangolius’s shoulders dropped slightly. ‘Why? I thought we were great together.’

 

‘Just go, please.’

 

He moved off the bed, grabbing his clothes. Halting in the doorway, he turned and asked, ‘Shall I owl you tomorrow?’

 

‘Get out!’ Hermione yelled, throwing a nearby vase at his head in frustration.

 

‘You fucking crazy bitch!’ Evangolius shouted, fleeing the flat.

 

Tom was pretty sure the bloke had never moved this fast in his entire life. Satisfied he wouldn’t be seeing that moron ever again, he turned his attention to the little witch in the room. She made quite a stunning figure as she stood there in her dressing gown, hair all electrified by her anger and power—positively magnificent.

 

Apart from Hermione’s heavy, frustrated breathing, the bedroom was utterly silent. Slowly, she turned to Tom, a murderous expression on her face. He was still lying sideways on her bed, his long legs crossed at the ankles, his hand supporting his head, allowing those long slender fingers to peek through those pitch-black locks. His hair was somewhat ruffled and his dark eyes shone merrily. He made quite the perfect picture, and she was pretty sure he knew it. Hermione pushed aside the suddenly rising attraction, which she was sure was due to Evan’s lacking performance and her unsatisfied, wanton feelings, and she focused on her anger.

 

‘You really have no respect for boundaries, do you?’ she hissed.

 

‘And you do?’ Riddle countered. ‘Instead of simply telling me you wanted to be alone with Mr I’ll-Never-Have-An-Original-Thought-In-My-Life, you locked me up.’

 

‘That’s no excuse to just invade my privacy like that.’

 

‘Well, you didn’t sound like you were enjoying yourself. You know you can tell a bloke that he’s doing something wrong.’

 

‘Over the line again. It’s none of your business.’

 

‘Though I doubt the dolt could’ve taken directions properly,’ he continued, undeterred. ‘I never thought you’d be shy in the sack, Granger.’

 

‘This isn’t about shyness,’ she growled. ‘You had no business being here. You’ve got no business commenting on what I can and cannot do with another man. Actually, you were the one that talked on and on about my boring homely life and that I needed to get out more, and now that I do, you’re what, jealous?’

 

He bristled.

 

‘Oh, I think you are. Everything in the world has to be about you after all, the great Lord Voldemort,’ she said, raising her hands to the sky. ‘I’m so sick of this shit. We’re not doing this anymore.’

 

‘Doing what?’

 

‘You interfering with my life. I liked my life before you complicated it. I happen to like my books, my freedom, my independence, my quiet time when I’m not working and I don’t need you telling me it’s wrong.’

 

Tom raised his eyebrows. ‘I never said that it was wrong.’

 

‘You said boring.’

 

He shrugged.

 

‘I’m not boring! Now get the hell out of my bed before I kick you out.’

 

When he wasn’t moving immediately, she took a threatening step forward, determined to kick the living daylights out of him. How dare he lie there, looking so utterly fuckable when she felt beyond frustrated and unsatisfied.

 

‘You do realise he left your front door open?’ Tom interrupted, right before she was going to pound on him.

 

She cursed, storming out, too.

 

As she closed and locked the door, she sighed. Men were positively useless.

 

A soft, derisive laughter met her eardrums. Before she’d a chance to give Riddle a snide retort that might’ve stopped the obvious mockery coming her way, he’d already opened his mouth.

 

‘But do tell me, Granger, how do you round up these dolts? Do you go to some special “I’ve got no clue” club to pick them up?’

 

Hermione closed her eyes, leaning with her palm against the door. She was so tired of this shit. What on earth was she even doing, bringing home random blokes just to prove a silly point to Lord Voldemort? Her life had been so much easier before he entered it. Again.

 

She had been perfectly happy entertaining herself with a good book, sitting on her comfortable couch by the fire and sipping a nice, hot cup of coffee. The couch he was now inhabiting as if it were his domain. He had fully invaded every inch of her life, and there simply was no getting rid of him. With every passing day, he seemed to become more and more a part of her as if she couldn’t breathe without him. How could one man take up so much space? And why did she allow him to question everything she did? Why did she doubt herself and her choices based on what she knew to be manipulation?

 

‘Have you ever even been kissed properly once?’

 

_What?_

 

She swirled around, her eyebrows raised questioningly and her mouth already half-open to give him a piece of her mind, when she found him standing only a few feet away—his normal immaculate appearance slightly ruffled as if he’d not given it any attention. His tie was dangling loose over his white shirt because he’d unbuttoned it at the top, giving her a teasing glimpse of his chest. Said shirt also wasn’t tucked pristinely into his black trousers and his pale feet were sticking out. Slowly, her eyes trailed back up over his slender body, taking in those perfect hands with their long, slim fingers, that creak in his shirt showing of his flawless skin, that square jawline, his full lips, those dark eyes you could drown in and his now tousled hair. He looked positively to die for, and there was no doubt in her mind that all this was as deliberate as his normal, obsessively pristine appearance.

 

‘Do you really think that works?’ she sneered.

 

‘What?’ he replied innocently, but the amusement in his eyes belied his tone of voice—he knew exactly what she meant.

 

‘I really don’t have time for this,’ Hermione snapped, ‘whatever _this_ ,’ she gestured at his appearance, ‘is. I’m tired and I’m going to bed. Feel free to make yourself vanish.’

 

She walked past him in a brisk pace, not in the mood to go another round with him, especially not since he was so good in pinpointing the sore spots when it came down to her socialising skills or lack thereof. Demonstratively, she slammed the door of her bathroom shut. To her utmost surprise, he didn’t follow her in or kept bothering her with his incessant chatter through the door. Instead, it remained silent.

 

So, she could’ve calmly got herself ready for bed. However, that was not what happened. She did brush her teeth, washed herself, sniffed at her favourite flannel pyjamas and dumped them in the hamper, putting her dressing gown back on. She did everything she’d normally do, but somehow she wasn’t at ease. She was on edge. Her mind supplied her with the perfect picture he presented and she kept hearing those words ‘Have you ever even been kissed properly once?’ over and over again as if they were an invitation. She splashed some cold water in her face for good measure and dried her face, shaking her head towards the mirror as if reminding herself of her one and only option. This was an area not to be ventured into. 

 

However, when she opened the door that led back into her bedroom, he was standing there, leaning against the wall with his left shoulder, his leg crossed at the ankle in front of the other: the epitome of dashing casualness and self-assurance. ‘I take it your reluctance to answer my simple question means you haven’t been kissed properly.’

 

Hermione bristled. ‘I’ve been kissed plenty of times, thank you very much.’

 

The corner of his mouth twitched up. ‘Yes, I was there. I, however,’ he pushed himself away from the wall and slowly glided towards her, ‘wasn’t talking about quantity, _Hermione_.’

 

The way her name slid of his lips made it sound oh so foreboding, sinuous and practically illegal. Her mouth turned dry and, in response, she folded her arms protectively in front of her chest. Instantaneously, he stopped moving towards her. They were a mere few feet apart now.

 

‘Not that it is any of your business, but I’ve been kissed perfectly fine in the past.’

 

‘Perfectly fine,’ he clicked with his tongue and shook his head, ‘not the words you would’ve used if you had any idea what a proper kiss entailed.’

 

‘Oh, and I suppose you’re “The Expert”,’ she mocked.

 

‘Is that a challenge?’

 

_Yes._

 

‘No!’

 

 _Crap! What am I thinking?_ Nervously, Hermione rubbed her neck.

 

‘I think it is.’

 

‘Naturally, because when a woman says no, she means yes,’ Hermione sneered.

 

Tom tilted his head. ‘No, that’s not what I meant. If you don’t want to, if you’re too afraid of what you might experience, if you don’t dare to, it’s perfectly fine. Just say no right now and I’ll walk away and you can go to sleep and be with those so far beneath you, I can’t even see the crown of their heads. _Or,_ you can overcome your fear of a true kiss. Be a true Gryffindor, overcome your fear of what you deem are inappropriate feelings towards me and say yes.’

 

‘You are so full of it.’

‘“Perfectly fine”. If you had any idea how inadequate those words are to describe a proper kiss, you wouldn’t hesitate for a second. I can do so much better than “perfectly fine”, Hermione Granger. Let me prove it to you.’

 

She blinked, looking down while she wriggled nervously with her fingers. This was a bad idea. Stupid. And yet … he’d made her curious. Had she really been missing out on something? Besides, it was only a kiss, right? It didn’t mean anything, did it?

 

‘Don’t you want to prove me wrong?’

 

‘You’re such a smooth manipulator,’ she replied, narrowing her eyes at him.

 

‘True, but I’m also very knowledgeable.’ He locked his eyes on hers. ‘About everything, Hermione.’ He took a step towards her. ‘Shall I explain it to you? How a real kiss isn’t about merely pressing your lips together and slobbering into each other’s mouths. I think you’ve always known there was more, always wanted more out of the experience, and just failed to meet someone able to give it to you.’ He cupped her face. She really wished she didn’t like the feeling of that, but it was nice, comforting. ‘Let me give it to you.’

 

‘Er … I—I …’ Her mouth was dry, so she swallowed, licking her lips as her eyes flickered between his mouth and his eyes. It was just a kiss, right? It didn’t mean anything. ‘All right, if it’ll stop you from nagging at me,’ she said bossily, trying to show how unimpressed she was, while her heart pounded audibly in her ears. It even sped up when she witnessed the familiar, foreboding, amused flicker in his eyes and the small upwards curve of his lips.

 

‘There will be no need for any … “ _nagging_ ” when I’m done with you. Just try to follow my lead. I know that doesn’t come natural to you.’

 

Her glare made him chuckle lightly, causing her stomach to do a little flip-flop. Slowly, his hand stroked the side of her face, brushing a strand of hair away. It left a nice, tingling sensation in its wake, and she didn’t mind it when his fingertips danced over her cheek before disappearing into her hair and cupping the back of her neck. Fear and anticipation ran through her body, causing her senses to be on high alert. Her pupils were wide as he closed the distance between them, bumping into her still crossed arms. He merely raised an eyebrow questioningly at her, and she awkwardly dropped her arms. That erupted a predatory smile on his face and his eyes darkened, making her swallow reflexively. Her heart was in her throat now, and she had to lick her lips because her mouth was dry again.

 

His other hand now stroked her face, which was even more sensitised than before. It made her feel as if she were swaying on her feet. Their eye contact was intense; she couldn’t look away as he towered over her. Gently, he tilted her head, his fingers caressing her jawline as his thumb rubbed over her dry lips once. Automatically, she licked them again. When he leaned in, she moved forward and he backed off, clicking disapprovingly with his tongue. Unsure, Hermione looked at him. The silence was killing her, but she couldn’t find the right words to say—somehow they remained lodged in her throat.

 

His fingers went over the hollow of her throat meticulously before he tilted her head and moved in for a kiss again. She kept positively still this time. Actually, her whole body was tense in anticipation. His lips halted right before hers. She could sense his breath ghosting against them and she wanted so much to close the distance, but he held her head quite firmly. Her expectations shot through the roof and a dissatisfied groan grew in her throat without her conscious approval. Slowly, his lips brushed hers, once, twice, barely touching. It made her lips tickle ever so wonderfully. Heat flushed from her neck to her face. Her eyes fluttered shut.

 

Swiftly, he licked her lips once, then gently started nibbling on them. It was heaven and hell combined. She wanted more, yet this was so nice. Her body sank against his, hands gripping his clothes to steady herself. His hand trailed down her shoulder and side before snaking around her back. They were gently kissing, heads tilting from side to side in a calm pace.

 

Then, his arm tightened around her back; his fingers curled into her hair, gripping it tightly; and he roughly pressed his mouth to hers, almost brutally demanding access with his tongue. Eagerly, Hermione opened her mouth, feeling that kiss from head to toe. It was as if an electric charge shot down to the core of her sex. Her content moan vibrated between them as their tongues stroked each other languorously, heads changing position. Her hands moved up his chest, stroking his neck before wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He swirled them around, pressing her back up against the wall while grabbing her thighs and lifting her.

 

Swiftly, Hermione wrapped her legs around his hips, her hands disappearing into his soft locks. They hadn’t even broken for air, kissing each other ferociously. His hands sneaked through the opening in her dressing gown at her thighs that had occurred when she’d wrapped her legs around him. His hands moved upwards, underneath the fabric, touching her soft, hot skin. It tickled deliciously as he trailed her sides. She bucked her hips towards him, almost feeling like she was burning up down there—she was so aroused it was on the edge of becoming painful. A desperate, muffled cry erupted in her throat. She needed more, so much more. He broke off their kiss, leaning his forehead against hers as they both panted for air.

 

Hermione opened her eyes, gazing straight in his.

 

‘Well?’ he asked breathlessly.

 

Her ragged breaths took priority before she finally was able to say, ‘Adequate, I suppose,’ lifting an eyebrow daringly and smirking at him.

 

‘Adequate,’ he repeated, his eyes darkening.

 

‘Yes,’ she added lightly, shrugging, her eyes twinkling at him.

 

He pressed his body hard against her, erupting a gasp from her lips. He leaned into her hair, licking the curve of her earlobe, which made her twitch. ‘I don’t respond well to lies, Miss Granger,’ he said threateningly, taking her lobe between his teeth and grazing it.

 

‘Oh gee, and what are you going to do about it?’ she taunted. ‘Going to punish the little liar?’

 

His breathing hitched, and his fingers dug into her sides. He stood there motionless, frozen to the ground.

 

‘Think you’re man enough to handle that?’ she added.

 

Calmly, he retreated from her ear, staring straight into her eyes. Her whole demeanour screamed mischief. She was daring him, and Lord Voldemort was never one to back down from a dare.

 

‘Are you sure you’re woman enough to handle me?’ he countered, raising an eyebrow.

 

‘Hmm…not sure I’ll have much to handle. You are quite the babbler and you know the saying, All talk and no play mammblllmmm …’

 

His lips bruised hers as he smothered the rest of her response. Her dressing gown fell open when he yanked the sash loose and she relished the feel of his hands exploring her fully available nude body, while she yanked off his tie and fumbled with all those damn buttons he had on his shirt. She mewled into his mouth when he fondled her breasts and decided, to hell with those buttons, grasping the fabric and giving it a firm yank. They clattered to the floor around them and she swiftly pushed his shirt off his shoulders and to the ground. As her hands travelled over his chest, his travelled upwards, enveloping her neck firmly as if he planned to choke her. She deepened their kiss in response, sucking at his tongue more ferociously, and felt the upwards curve of his lips that action achieved.

 

He loosened his grip, fingertips barely touching her skin, tickling all those pleasurable sensitive spots on her neck. Then, he abruptly moved his hands down over her shoulders, pushing the dressing gown to the floor and exposing her to him fully. Goosebumps erupted on her skin from both the chilly temperature of the room and the excellent attention she was receiving. Stumbling, they went to the bed, Hermione unbuttoning his trousers and trying to push them down while they walked and kissed. Inevitably, Tom’s legs got tangled in them and he lost his balance, toppling them onto the bed.

 

Hermione snorted, giggling at the situation, while Tom rose on his elbows, kicking off his trousers. He immediately pressed his lips to her neck, trailing butterfly kisses everywhere he could reach as they clumsily moved somewhat farther upon the bed. When he felt her hands go to his underpants, he slapped them away.

 

‘Patience, Granger,’ he reprimanded. ‘No wonder you’re bored stiff normally.’

 

‘Eh!’ she objected half-heartedly because his mouth made contact with her breast. She dug her fingers into his hair instead, enjoying the feel of his soft locks and massaging his skull.

 

He paid attention to every inch of her breast before moving to her nipple. When he circled the rim teasingly, her nipple erected and he closed his mouth around it, sucking hard abruptly. Gasping, Hermione arched, feeling it shoot straight to her core. Her fingers had grasped tightly to his hair, so he pulled her hands away calmly.

 

‘I think these need to be restrained,’ he purred, pushing them above her head. His mouth near her ear, he breathed the incantation ticklish against her earlobe. Something soft and silky slid several times around her wrists. ‘Much better,’ he added, admiring his handiwork.

 

Hermione tilted her head backwards, noticing the green scarf that in her opinion wasn’t much of a restraining tool. Besides, even with her wrists tied together, she could still move her arms forwards and grab his hair. Smirking mischievously, she moved her arms toward him, surprised when something stopped her.

 

Tom chuckled. ‘It’s magically attached to the headboard, dear. You’re going nowhere.’

 

That sounded like a dare to Hermione.

 

‘Really?’ she huffed, finding that he seriously underestimated her ability to slip out of things. That knot he’d used was far too loose, and she would demonstrate it. However, when she tried it, the scarf went taut. Her eyes widening, she tried to wrestle free, tear the fabric apart, but everything she did only caused her to become even more restrained. She growled in frustration, glaring at the amused snake above her. ‘Green, how utterly original,’ she sneered.

 

‘It’s to make sure you know who you belong to,’ he said, smirking.

 

Hermione raised an eyebrow mockingly. ‘You think a little piece of green fabric determines that? Hah!’

 

‘No, it’s merely symbolic,’ he admitted, gazing straight into her eyes. ‘What happens next will demonstrate it.’

 

His eyes darkened and the intensity made her catch her breath as he moved forward, folding his hands over hers and slowly drawing them down over her arms. ‘I will,’ he breathed, languidly kissing her mouth while his hands caressed up and down her arms, ‘explore every inch,’ his tongue trailed her jaw as his fingers stroked past her armpits all the way down her sides, ‘of your delicious body,’ he nibbled on her earlobe, ‘tonight.’ His mouth caught hers again, and as he kissed her oh so deep and dominant again, she felt herself go slack and surrendered, following his excellent lead.

 

‘That’s a good girl,’ he said hoarsely, stroking up her belly and over her breasts to her neck and shoulders. He placed his hands on each side of her body there and pressed up his legs to move them between hers. Realising what he was doing, Hermione spread her legs before he had to push them aside. ‘A very good girl,’ he purred, settling between them on his knees, his hands travelling down, squeezing her breasts. ‘Show yourself to me, Hermione.’

 

She angled her hips, bowing her legs farther and spreading them wider.

 

‘Beautiful,’ he whispered, drawing his fingernails lightly over her belly, her hips, all the way down to her feet before moving back up on the sensitive inside. Her legs twisted as he teased her skin, coming closer and closer to where she really wanted to touch him, but he evaded it evilly.

 

She closed her eyes, groaning in frustration.

 

‘Do you want something, dear?’ he taunted.

 

‘Yes,’ she said in a way that made it seem to an outsider that she was in excruciating pain.

 

He laughed coldly, leaning into her face, his hands resting on her thighs. ‘What was that?’ he asked, cupping her pubic region teasingly.

 

She yanked on her restraints, growling. She was burning up down there and he needed to do something about it now.

 

‘Lost the ability to speak, my dear? So soon?’ He squeezed down hard, watching satisfied how her body lifted off the mattress.

 

‘Oh fuck, just fucking please touch me there, you fucking tease!’ she screamed.

 

‘Manners, manners, manners,’ he said, clicking with his tongue disapprovingly.

 

‘Oh come ooooon, please.’

 

‘Somewhat better.’

 

Hermione closed her eyes, desperate for more and expecting him to draw this out until she’d gone insane. She yerked in surprised when his fingers parted her folds. Opening her eyes, she watched how he used his other hand to caress her intimate parts. She mewled as electricity shot up her spine, bucking her hips towards him.

 

‘You are so wet for me, Hermione,’ he breathed, holding up his hand and demonstratively licking his fingers dry one by one. The sight made her clench her inner walls painfully at the emptiness. ‘Exquisite.’

 

Expectantly, they looked at each other, each waiting for the other’s first move. Finally, Hermione couldn’t bear it anymore. Her sex was throbbing painfully, desiring action.

 

‘Please,’ she whispered. ‘Touch my clit. I need you there’

 

‘I know,’ he said, an evil grin growing on his face. ‘Let’s see how many times I can make you come tonight, shall we?’

 

Then, he began in earnest. Stimulating her clit with his thumb while entering her pussy with his fingers. She twisted on the bed, yanking on her bounds and moaning louder and louder until the pleasurable rush of her climax ran through her body.

 

‘One,’ Tom said, satisfied, bending over, pulling her legs over his shoulders and pressing his mouth to her clit. His tongue circled it, moving in impossible-to-anticipate directions. He had to hold her hips tightly with both hands as she bucked and thrashed violently. He slid his tongue inside her opening, moving from pussy to clit fast. Then he sucked hard on that sensitive nub and she screamed out his name. ‘Two.’

 

Hermione lost track of everything, her body hot and slick from perspiration. He’d restrained her legs in a position that gave him full and unrestricted access as he brought her to the brink  and pushed her over the edge time and time again. It was like every nerve ending was on fire, and every single one of his touches sent delicious sensations through her body unlike she ever experienced. As another orgasm rippled through her, he stepped off the bed and moved around it, sitting down next to her side. He gently stroked her face, brushing her wet strands of hair out of her eyes. She blinked, looking at him in awe. He was magnificent as he sat there, nude, emphasising his lean and strong build. Her eyes fell on the bulge in his pants. She wanted that inside of her so badly that it ached.

 

‘Later,’ Tom said soothingly. ‘Right now, you’re going to find that dark magic has its advantages.’

 

Her eyes widened. ‘Wh-what,’ she stuttered, needing to take another deep breath, ‘are you planning?’

 

‘It wouldn’t be fun if you were forewarned,’ he teased. Twisting his wrist, his wand appeared in his hand. He swept it above her and she felt a soft tingle travel through her, indicating some spell had taken hold, and from the looks of Tom Riddle’s expectant expression, she was in for quite a ride. She inhaled sharply when he placed his wand against her cheek.

 

‘Scared?’

 

She nodded silently.

 

‘Not completely unwise,’ he admitted, ‘I do enjoy administering pain. However, tonight you needn’t worry. This is solely for your pleasure.’ He trailed his wand down, flicking it against her nipples, which made her twitch. She held her breath as he moved it past her hips and over the inside of her thighs before dragging it down through her folds. She’d expected him to act when he ran the tip over her clit, but apart from the mild jolt of pleasure that action supplied her with, he just moved on until he stopped at her opening.

 

‘I want you to see this,’ he muttered, conjuring a mirror and hanging it at an angle above her. ‘Watch,’ he ordered, his eyes on her face as he slowly inserted his yew wand inside of her.

 

Hermione stared, fascinated and slightly frightened when it disappeared farther and farther into her. Her fear didn’t stop her arousal, it enhanced it. She could feel and now see her fluids leaking out of her. She’d never been this wet before during sex and wondered if this were normal. When the tip touched her cervix, she squirmed uncomfortably.

 

‘Good,’ Tom purred. ‘Something I can teach you to enjoy. Ready?’

_For what?_

He hissed something in Parseltongue and she felt the strange sense that the words slithered all over her skin as if branding her with something. Then she tensed when sparks erupted from the tip of his wand, stinging her insides. But other than that, nothing happened. He pulled out the wand and vanquished the mirror. Confused, Hermione looked at him.

 

‘You’ll see,’ he said, stroking soothingly through her hair.

 

It was so nice, she leaned into his touch, practically purring in delight and growling in discontent when he stopped to move away. However, when he pushed down his underpants and she got a glimpse of his thick, rock-hard cock, her stomach did a flip-flop and her disappointment was forgotten. She wanted that inside of her now. He crawled over her, a predatory look on his face as if he planned to devour her whole. He probably was, Hermione realised, bringing a smile to her face. He leaned on his arms above her, not touching her anywhere to her utter disappointed. Then his tip pressed against her opening and she forgot everything, clenching in reflex and groaning when there was nothing there to clench around yet.

 

‘Look at me,’ Riddle ordered.

 

Her eyes met his.

 

‘Good,’ he purred. ‘Don’t look away. I want you to know who is taking you. Who is bringing you this pleasure. And I want you screaming my name when you come, my true name.’

 

She nodded.

 

‘You’re so beautiful when you submit to me,’ he purred, slowly pushing his tip inside of her.

 

Agonisingly slow, he slid farther, her walls clenching. He stopped when he was almost fully sheathed inside of her. It felt marvellous to have him there, tingles shot up and down her spine even with him holding himself still. She wanted to keep feeling his twitching cock inside of her forever. He breathed against her lips. She lifted her head trying to kiss him but he leaned back and said huskily, ‘Once I touch your skin with either my hands or lips, every sensation you’ll feel will be multiplied by tenfold.’

 

She stared at him. _Every sensation?_ She’d go mad.

 

‘Now I’m going to kiss you next and then, I will fuck you with every strength of my being, Hermione. You are spread bare before me and you will receive everything I deem fit. Your body will be crying for more as I stretch you to your limits. I will hit your cervix and you will take the pain to receive the pleasure. I will fuck you so hard you’ll feel it for days to come. Tonight you will learn what it is to be utterly spend and taken. Tonight, you are mine.’

 

Then, he leaned in, bruising her lips with his harsh kiss and she knew what she was in for when her whole body lit on fire right before he started moving inside of her. It ached so much as he slid in and out of her, but it was a delicious kind of ache, mixed with pleasure beyond her wildest dreams. She needed the friction more than life itself. He cast her binds away and she wrapped her arms and legs around him, clinging to him to the best of her abilities. Every time his cock hit her cervix, her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she arched her back so far it was on the verge of breaking. Yet, he kept pounding into her relentlessly, enjoying the sight of her complete and utter surrender as she unravelled before his eyes.

 

‘My Lord!’ she yelled at the top of her lungs, her whole body shaking feverishly as she reached her peak.

 

To see his former enemy like this made him come hard and he spilt his seed inside of her, tossing his head back in delight. He slowly pulled himself out of her and rolled to the side, wrapping his arms around the exhausted, little witch and pulling her into his arms.

 

‘That was fun,’ she whispered tiresomely.

 

He couldn’t agree more.

 

 

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

Ever since that time they’d sex, Tom no longer slept on the couch. Hermione had taken him into her bed, telling herself it didn’t matter. He couldn’t do anything to harm anyone as long as he wasn’t touching her. She could stop him if need be. She was the one in control here, the one with a fully self-sustaining, normal body. Besides, she figured if he thought she’d lowered her guard, he might let something slip that would inform her how to dispose of him. She wasn’t betraying anyone. They were just sleeping … most of the time.

 

Drowsily, Hermione was lying on her side, listening to Tom’s even breathing as he slept. She liked the feeling of his warm body spooning her and his arms holding her possessively, even though she would playfully whack him over the head if she felt he was taking that possessiveness a tad too far. He, however, was exceptionally well aware of where she drew the line and hardly ever crossed it. She suspected that when he did, it was deliberate, given he always sported that expectant, taunting expression in those moments.

 

She knew it was slightly insane of her, but she had come to feel safe in his arms. She enjoyed his company. He was exceptionally intelligent, so she was never without a suitable conversational partner. They’d come to discuss magic, theories, politics (which always made her want to wring his neck, especially when he turned her arguments against her), Arithmancy, cooking, pets, the virtues of Muggle versus wizarding clothing—well, basically everything under the sun and beyond was a topic they felt worthy of discussing. He also taught her things, many things she’d never believed to be magically possible. Yes, even that blasted pocket of his, and even though he’d kept bugging her teasingly about those two questions she now owed him, he never asked them.

 

Hermione sniggered internally. She’d come to realise that the one thing that could set of Tom Marvolo Riddle was telling him something was not possible. It was like he took it as a personal affront that there might be limits to what he could do with magic. If she wanted to be rid of him and have some quiet time, all she had to do was casually mention an issue that could not be solved by anyone and he would just be sitting there, in that familiar, do-not-disturb posture, contemplating the problem until he either had it solved or assumed he had.

 

Often, his solutions weren’t testable without breaking tons of laws, and she didn’t always agree with his assessments that it was the solution at all, but she was amazed he was able to make these complex computations by heart without the ability to write things down. She really envied that mind of his—well, the part of it that wasn’t batshit crazy.

 

When she’d a difficult situation at her job, he was spectacularly helpful in laying out all the pros and cons of every angle. Of course, they’d argue about what was the pro and what the con, but she valued those arguments because they made her think and caused her to have her department produce the most solid new laws in years. She knew he’d made her an even better boss. Though she never had complaints before, she missed less with him around. Two really saw more than one.

 

And he made her laugh. He had an acquired taste of vicious humour that had taken her a while to get used to. Now that she saw it for what it was, it didn’t affront her anymore as it’d done in the beginning. Often, it would remind her of Harry’s dark sarcasm during the war, which had upset her too back then, mainly out of worry though. And she wasn’t worried about Tom Marvolo Riddle, she reminded herself as she drifted off to sleep.

 

 

 

xxx

 

Winter came, and it became more and more difficult to Tom to hide his improving abilities from Hermione. He didn’t know with certainty why it was happening—though he had a (in his eyes) solid theory—but he’d begun to be able to touch and lift tiny objects for longer durations than mere seconds without having to touch her. His magic was improving, too, though he was seriously irritated at the stupidity of the spells he was able to perform. Only when touching Hermione, he could do complex or forbidden magic. Still, since there was a steady incline of his capabilities, he waited patiently.

 

After the incident with the blond witch, Luna, he’d also expected to regain visibility to others, but it wasn’t happening. That was actually rather useful for the time being. If the ministry were to be alerted to his existence with actual proof, there was no telling to what length they would go. He didn’t think Hermione’s past actions or her friendship to the boy wonder would be enough to protect her and him. And as long as he didn’t have the freedom to perform his full array of curses at his own discretion, he’d rather not go up against a bunch of idiotic moralistic saviours.

 

So, he kept a close eye at the way people reacted when he was in their presence since he had no idea why this Luna Lovegood had been able to see him. He’d not told Hermione about that encounter, but he’d discreetly weaselled the information from her that, apparently, Lovegood often saw things that weren’t there. He figured that maybe she had some advanced psychic talent; he’d heard and read of others with somewhat similar capabilities. Some were even institutionalised in the past. The wizarding world could, for all its wonder, be extremely conservative at times in what was and was not possible magically. He knew better.

 

The trouble he now faced was that his digestive system had started to function again. The first time he’d needed to pee, he’d almost wet himself, so unused to said occurrence he had become. It had been hard to take in fluids and food when he could only do it outside of Hermione’s presence. Fluids weren’t the issue; he could get by with tap water. However, he didn’t dare eat her food, because she’d notice it missing. She was just as organised in her food storage as she was with everything else.

 

So, he stole food from her neighbours, other ministry workers and wherever he could get his hands on it without her seeing him do it. The trouble was that it wasn’t enough and he was beginning to lose weight—not much, but he feared it would become visible eventually. And just the other day, his stomach had growled in her presence and she’d looked up questioningly. He’d made a pun of it, but he wasn’t sure she’d been completely fooled. The sharp way she’d observed him afterwards had made him extra cautious, and for several days, he’d not done anything with or about his new abilities to throw her of his scent. Eventually, her suspicion had lessened and he’d been able to go about his way again.

 

Only a few more weeks and it would be Christmas Eve. If his theory about his current existence were correct—as he was sure it was—that would be the time he’d be able to resurrect fully. Lord Voldemort would rise more powerful than he ever had before. He glanced sideways at the bushy-haired witch who was chatting animatedly with her friends and smirked. Soon, all she’d know and need was him, and he planned to put that delicious, little body, her amazing mind and incredible magical skills to good use. Mudblood she might be, but Lord Voldemort never scoffed at power, and if there were one thing Hermione Granger had plenty of, it was power. In due time, that power would serve only him, and the world would fall before him.

 

His eyes glinted merrily. His face displayed a wild happiness that distorted his handsome features to something exuding cruelty and evilness. He was so caught up in his happy daydream that he never saw the brief glance Hermione threw his way nor did he witness her contemplative expression afterwards while her friends laughed loudly.

 

 

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

 

Only a few minutes to Christmas Eve, Tom’s eyes flickered between the alarm clock on Hermione’s nightstand and the drugged witch on the bed. Gently, he cupped her cheek, stroking her soft skin with his thumb. She didn’t react to his touch; he’d slipped enough Sleeping Draught into her breakfast for her to be out for a couple of days. Then, he’d owled her friends with some excuse as to why she couldn’t attend their party. It had all gone smoothly. After a year in her presence, he knew enough to mimic her writing and word choice to perfection. Nobody had suspected a thing. He was almost there.

 

Soon, Lord Voldemort would return, very much alive indeed.

 

He tossed the Hogwarts orb in his hand through the air casually. His cold laugh filled the room as he looked through the window. It still wasn’t snowing. His Atmospheric Curse was working perfectly. That bloated redshirt would probably be desperate by now, needing the snow to eat the little kiddies. Mr Claus should never have tried to trick or underestimated Lord Voldemort, and any minute now, he would learn why.

 

Finally, it was time and he placed the orb on the bed, picking up Hermione’s hand and holding it above the orb. He retrieved the silver knife he’d stolen from Borgin & Burkes and placed it against her palm.

 

‘This will sting a bit,’ he said, not sure why he even bothered.

 

With a swift motion, he sliced into her palm and her blood filled the orb. Quickly, he pocketed the knife and retrieved his wand, healing her wound as the landscape in the orb turned from blood-red to normal again. A purple jet erupted from his wand, impacting on his and Hermione’s chest before charging into the orb. He waited until the orb had settled back to normal before he began chanting, tapping the orb. Without him shaking the item, it slowly started to snow and a tiny Santa appeared on his sleigh, looking up at him in anger. Tom smirked evilly—it was always pleasurable when his victims realised he was sentencing them.

 

The Hogwarts orb had been a perfect replica. That had been the reason he’d picked it out for his task years ago. Right now, everything that happened inside the orb happened outside of it in reality. The proof of it was staring him in the face in the snowfall that was visible through Hermione’s bedroom window. Calmly, Tom circled his wand around the orb, causing the snow to speed up. Santa Claus mouthed something in his direction. Looking forward to the entertainment, Tom cast a spell enabling them to communicate.

 

‘You can’t kill me!’

 

Tom laughed loudly, tossing his head back. Tauntingly, his wand circled the orb more rapidly, making the snow fall faster. ‘Pray tell, why not?’ he mocked.

 

‘If I die, you’ll die, too!’ Claus shouted, furious.

 

‘You broke your vow to me; you were supposed to give me immortality.’

 

‘I never said how you would exist in said immortality.’

 

‘Oh, how clever,’ Tom sneered. ‘You’ll find Lord Voldemort doesn’t take well to deception.’ He whirled his wand around the orb again.

 

‘Then Lord Voldemort better be prepared to die with me!’ Santa yelled, trying to keep his sleigh steady in the blazing snow. Something Tom knew was happening right now outside of Hogwarts.

 

‘I think you’ll find I won’t. You think this orb, with our blood in it, is all that’s connecting us, all that’s keeping me alive, but it’s not. Lord Voldemort is always ready for treachery and plans ahead far further than the tiny insignificant brains of others could ever begin to comprehend. You see, that snow potion you used every year to eat Muggle children did a bit more than enable that. It weakened you, made you dependant on Lord Voldemort’s mercy.’

 

Once more, he sped up the snow, enjoying the loud shriek Santa Claus made when his sleigh nearly collided into the Astronomy Tower. He had trouble steering it because the increasing speed of the snow corresponded with the increasing speed of the sleigh.

 

‘You never wondered why I didn’t come out of the orb right after my death?’

 

Tom didn’t wait for the answer to his rhetorical question. He continued viciously, ‘I waited because every year you poured more and more of your energy into sustaining me by eating children with the use of my potion, the balance of our connection would slowly flip to me. Nine years I waited; nine years to find you betrayed me. And now in year ten, I will exert my power of you. I will get my vengeance. You’re no longer the one in charge of how much life-force you send my way. I am, and I will gladly take it all. All of your immortality, strength and power will come to me. You will feel the wrath of Lord Voldemort to its fullest and you will die tonight, Mr Claus, while I will live. Forever!’

 

The snow turned into a blazing blizzard. Everything inside the orb was invisible; it seemed like an opaque glass globe now. If it weren’t for the spell Tom had cast on the orb, he’d never been able to hear Santa Claus’s final words.

 

‘My death will destroy the orb. Without my blood, there is no connection that will allow it to reassemble. Enjoy my life-force, my Lord, it won’t last for longer than a second.’

 

Tom laughed coldly. ‘The orb only needs a blood-connection to reassemble,’ Tom said quietly, knowing the spell would make his words heard as if he’d been speaking into Santa Claus’s ears. ‘It doesn’t have to be yours. Goodbye.’

 

One last twirl of his wand, and with a loud crash, the glass exploded, tuning out Claus’s death cry and darkening the bedroom with magical energy. It surged through the air, making everything invisible to the naked eye. Tom didn’t care about that. So much dark power was intoxicating. He leaned back, inhaling it, relishing in it, cherishing it. This was the true meaning of power, of being a wizard, and it was all his for the taking. He spread his arms wide and drew it in, slowly, wanting to draw out the sensation. It was electrifying. He was Lord Voldemort, the greatest, most powerful wizard of all time, and all would grovel at his feet.

 

He didn’t remember when he’d closed his eyes to enhance his other senses into enjoying what was happening more, but when he opened them, his blood turned to ice. Granger was sitting upright, her eyes fierce, her hair static with power, her wand pointed at the glassless replica of Hogwarts, her curse already en route. The bolt of red struck the double, oak front doors of Hogwarts dead on.

 

‘NO!’ Tom yelled, feeling the pull and trying to fight it.

 

But the force was impossible to block because it was partly his. The blood, their blood with all its combined power, sucked him right in. He crash-landed on the flagstone floor of the Entrance Hall, protecting his face with his arms against the impact. When he was finally lying still, he carefully moved his limbs. Relieved when he realised he’d not broken anything and would only have some major cuts and bruises to heal, he remained cautiously where he was, lying on his belly, when all the air got pushed out of his lungs as a soft body smashed on top of him.

 

‘Umph,’ he groaned, overpowered by her loud shriek.

 

She rolled away, her arms curled around her head.

 

 _I should’ve rolled, too,_ he realised inconsequentially, _much less chance of serious damage._

 

She stopped a few feet away from him, lying on her back and immediately trying to get up.

_That’s a mistake_ , he thought, watching her fall back and clutch to her head in pain. He’d done the same thing years ago and knew what it felt like. It was not pleasant.

 

Yet, her pain hardly gave him any satisfaction as he heard the front doors close. He knew the orb had been restored to its former glory and he wanted to curse her into oblivion for what she’d done. He wanted to shake some sense into that idiotic, self-sacrificing mind of a Gryffindork. Without an anchor in the real world, there was no way to leave this place. She had to have known that. She had to have known this was the only way to stop him. All this time he’d thought she’d been unaware what he was up to, unaware of his improving capabilities, and she’d been one step ahead of him the entire time. She’d been pretending to be asleep the entire bloody day! A Mudblood had outwitted him. This tiny, little witch had out manipulated him, the heir of Slytherin.

 

He snorted, his body shaking as he began laughing uncontrollably, rolling onto his back while clutching to his belly.

 

‘Are you all right?’ Hermione asked tentatively, a worried expression on her face as if she thought he’d finally lost it completely.

 

He turned his head to face her. ‘Why weren’t you asleep? I gave you enough to knock out an Ukrainian Ironbelly.’

 

‘Antidote.’

 

‘There are no Sleeping Draught antidotes you can take pre-emptively; the only way to reverse it prematurely is to use an antidote _after_ you’ve taken the Sleeping Draught,’ he countered.

 

‘It’s a new antidote, not yet approved for mass consumption but finished with all the phase trials. They’re just waiting for the ministerial approval to come through and supply them with the proper paperwork to start mass production. I happen to … ermmm … know the person who owns the company.’

 

‘Malfoy,’ Tom hissed, staring at the ceiling furiously because that blasted pureblood was out of his reach now.

 

Hermione grinned. ‘Yeah, Draco kindly gave me a vial when I,’ she coughed, ‘asked.’

 

‘Right, “asked”. I trust you made him wet himself,’ Tom said, feeling slightly vindicated.

 

‘I wasn’t paying attention to his pants.’

 

‘I’d have cursed you if you had,’ he blurted out before he could stop himself.

 

Hermione flushed red and looked away.

 

‘I’m still going to curse you for getting me stuck in here again,’ he quickly added. ‘I finally can hurt you, and I’m really looking forward to hearing your screams and pleas for mercy. I’m going to make you beg for forgiveness, Hermione.’

 

‘Beg for forgiveness?’ she repeated mockingly and let out a derisive snort. ‘Dream on.’

 

‘Is that a challenge?’

 

‘No, a given. I have a wand, too, in case you’ve forgotten. Besides, it’s a bit pointless to make each other’s lives miserable when we’re stuck in here together forever. So, why don’t you instead tell me what it’s like living in this orb?’

 

He stole a glance in her direction, enjoying how coolheaded and collected she was despite her predicament. It was so much more fun breaking the strong ones. Her hair still crackled with power; he’d love to bury his fingers in it, yank her head back, capture her mouth with his, and fuck that delicious body of her senseless.

 

Sweet Salazar, he was losing his mind around this witch. That had to be why she’d been able to trick him. He’d never been susceptible to feminine wiles until he met her.

 

Focus, he reprimanded himself. What was the subject again? Oh yes, living in the orb—a realm he knew more about than her. This was an advantage he’d milk for all it was worth and he knew where her interest would mostly lie. Hiding his actions behind his body, he flicked his wand, locking the library and summoning its keys nonverbally.

 

‘It’s a perfect replica,’ he said conversationally, feeling the keys drop in his hand. ‘It’s got everything Hogwarts has in the real world.’

 

‘So, it evolves, too,’ she immediately concluded. ‘Does that mean there will also be a constant influx of new literature in the library?’

 

‘Yes, not that I’m letting you anywhere near it,’ he taunted, holding up the dangling keys. 

 

Her eyes narrowed at him.

 

‘What was it you said to me again?’ he asked, faux-pondering. ‘Oh yes, “dream on”.’ He sniggered, jingling the keys above his head.

 

_Accio!_

 

He could just hold on to the keys, but the force behind the charm was too great and he glided to her. His key-filled hand landing in her outstretched one. He quickly banished the keys to one of his secret pockets, enjoying her frustrated scream. Taking advantage of her brief distraction, he rolled on top of her, grinding his body into hers. Hermione’s eyes widened in surprise as his darkened at the feel of her pinned down underneath him. They lay there utterly still, gazing into each other’s eyes, while each ignored the wand in their hand.

 

‘I believe you owe me an apology,’ Tom breathed seductively against her lips, smirking evilly when that tiny action made her shiver.

 

‘I could say the same,’ she countered, sticking her nose haughtily in the air. Her act was utterly undone by the breathlessness of her speech.

 

‘I require compensation.’

 

‘Me too.’

 

Abruptly, they became a tangle of limbs, snogging so hard as if they had a point to make. Their wands forgotten, they tore off each other’s clothes violently. He grabbed her hair, pulling her head back as he’d just envisioned himself doing, and attacked the hollow of her throat with his teeth and lips. A soft mewl escaped her when his other hand found her clit, rubbing it hard and fast, going left and right, round and round, varying his movements so she couldn’t anticipate the sensation that would come next. She squirmed and twisted underneath him in response, her moans getting louder and louder. Her one hand was in his hair, holding on tightly, while her other stroked his rapidly hardening cock. He trailed her skin with his mouth, occasionally nipping at it with his teeth and then soothing the mild pain with his tongue. Hurriedly, she guided his cock to her entrance, slipping the tip into her wet folds and clasping her legs around his back. Before she had the chance to pull him down into her, his teeth clamped harshly around her skin, right at the curve between her neck and shoulder, causing her to still in fear. He loved the scent and feel of fear; it made him so hard.

 

‘You. Are. Mine,’ he hissed, slamming his full length into her while biting down hard.

 

Her blood tasted lovely on his lips; her screams a testament to his dominance as he fucked her roughly. Her nails drew blood on his back and several strands of his hair got pulled out. He captured her mouth, making her taste her blood on his lips. She sucked forcefully at his mouth, and he deepened the kiss at once, taking over control again. Using her legs, she met his brutal thrusts, wanting it harder. He was more than happy to obliged.

 

He pinched her clit with his fingernails and that pushed her over the edge. Her whole body shook as her first orgasm rippled through it. While continuing to torment her clit in every way possible, he angled his hips, now also targeting her G-spot as he continued thrusting into her and thus expanding upon the sensations that overwhelmed her fully. Her screams vibrated into his mouth, but he didn’t grant her an ounce of freedom there. He kept covering her mouth with his, forcing her to take air in through her nose. The slight oxygen depletion enhanced the height of her climax. She thrashed and writhed, perspiration dripping down her forehead, as jolt after jolt after jolt sang through her body.

 

He let go of her hair and grasped his wand, nonverbally casting a Preservation Sex Charm on her. Her whole body would now intermittently flex between this current orgasmic state, as aroused and sensitised as it was, and brief periods of normalcy, unless she peaked higher and then that would be the new baseline to stay in. Forcing someone in a climatic state for a long duration was almost crueller than withholding them from reaching their peak. So much pleasure was not something the mind and body were used to receiving and delirium would set in. However, she’d have to show some serious atonement before he granted her the relief of coming down from it.

 

Abruptly, he pulled away from her.

 

‘Oh God, oh God!’ she yelled, shaking relentlessly.

 

He flipped her over, yanking her arse into the air and pressing his tip against her vagina again. When she tried to push herself up on her arms, he shoved her back to the ground.

 

‘Shoulders on the floor,’ he bit. ‘Arms stretched out in front of you. If you try to move back up again, I’ll take the other opening that’s available to me now.’

 

He planned to go there later anyway, but no need to inform his little pet of that now. She didn’t attempt to move back up, but he couldn’t quite tell if it were because she obeyed him or because she was overwhelmed by the other climax running through her. It didn’t matter. She had the right position and he quickly filled her up, causing her to yell out random syllables.

 

The feel of her clenching around his cock again was almost too much to bear and he flicked his wand, preventing himself from losing his control. Knowing he could safely move now without risking an unplanned ejaculation, he changed his plans. This time, he stayed fully sheathed inside of her, gripping her hips as he began rotating his, caressing every inch of her inner walls and stretching her wider and wider with his cock. She groaned, her arms flailing in front of her.

 

‘You like this, pet?’

 

She mewled, unable to articulate her contentment properly.

 

‘I believe your pleasure is making you a bit too wide to my taste. Clench your muscles around my cock,’ he ordered just when another rush overtook her senses, making her unable to comply as he perfectly well knew.

 

‘Hmmm…such a disobedient, bad girl, only focused on herself,’ he tsk-ed. ‘Let’s fix that, shall we? Disobedient girls don’t deserve to have control over their muscles; that’s their master’s prerogative.’

 

He pulled out of her fully, ignoring the cry of distress. Then, he wrapped one arm around her hips to hold her up and used the other to draw one long finger through her folds. She shuddered when he passed her clit, tossing her head back wildly. He laughed mockingly.

 

‘So responsive to my touch, yet so unruly and disrespectful. Don’t worry, dear, I will fix that rebellious streak of yours.’

 

He inserted two fingers into her pussy and pressed his thumb against her clit. Then, he unleashed his magic straight into her sex and she screamed herself hoarse, thrashing violently as her inner muscles tightened and tightened in her ecstasy. He laughed, knowing a new baseline had been set, whilst he’d turned her tighter than virgin. Knowing this would hurt, he grabbed her hips again and thrust his cock back into her pussy forcefully.

 

‘Oh yesssss,’ he said, tossing his head back as she clenched all around him. Hermione whimpered uncomfortably, but didn’t move away to his satisfaction. ‘That’s better, pet. A bit of pain makes it all so much sweeter, doesn’t it? I want you to remember this,’ he said, stroking her clit to turn her pain-filled whimpers into something else entirely.

 

As he spoke calmly, showing her his dominance by his capability to still properly articulate his sentences, he marvelled at how she unravelled completely at his touch, clenching hard around him when she reach another orgasm. He let go of her clit, letting his fingers tease her skin until he squeezed her butt.

 

‘Next time, you’ll clench your muscles properly, won’t you? You will remember how you enjoyed the feeling of being filled to the hilt and pleasuring your Master properly. You’ll beg me to subjugate you again, and I—being a merciful Master—will oblige you. Now let us begin, my dear. I’m going to fuck you raw.’

 

And he gripped her hips, moving in and out, in and out, in and out, in and out in such a rapid pace, her face was scraping the floor and she tried to lift it.

 

‘Don’t lift your head,’ he warned. ‘Lick the floor instead, my pet. Show me your skills and maybe I’ll give you something else to suck on later.’

 

Satisfied when she complied, he continued fucking her. Watching her obedience was thrilling and it sent him into a feverish pitch. He wanted, _needed_ to come now, too. So he did. He gave her one more thrust and spilt his seed inside her womb. Well, that was something his little pet would just have to fix, wasn’t it? He pulled out his already softening member and let go of her completely. She splashed down on the floor like a fish on land.

 

‘Tired already?’ he taunted, lying down on his back next to her. ‘We’re nowhere near done yet, little Mudblood of mine.’

 

Still, he didn’t want her to have a heart attack, so he placed his hand on her head and cast, causing the sex charm to temporarily abstain and enabling her to move. She was panting heavily while he stroked through her wet hair.

 

‘I enjoyed your performance just now, Hermione. I think it’s best to give you something more worthwhile to lick.’

 

With a flick of his wrist, she was airborne and landed with her face between his legs. ‘Suck me, Mudblood,’ he ordered harshly, grabbing her hair with his fist. ‘If you don’t have me hard again within the next ten minutes, I’m going to drag you to the dungeons and whip every inch of you. And while your skin peels off your body, you’ll still scream out for more.’

 

He let go of her hair when she started to lick his head, swirling her tongue around it. Casually, he placed his hands underneath his head, watching her performance. Soon, he shifted slightly, enjoying how far she took him into her mouth. She stroked his balls simultaneously, making him groan and close his eyes. Her dexterity and ingenuity with her tongue was beyond anything he’d ever experienced and he knew he wouldn’t have to back out on his threat when she began sucking hard on his head, pressing her tongue firmly against that sensitive spot. He was hard in no time, though he’d forgotten to keep track of the exact duration.

 

Still, he was hard. She was right there. It would be a waste to whip her now. ‘Ride me.’

 

She crawled over him, her legs on either side of his hips as she guided his cock inside of her. She was still incredibly tight and this way he could witness her various expressions as she lowered herself slowly all the way down. Pain and pleasure nerves were so easily confused by the mind and he could already tell she couldn’t distinguish quite adequately between the two anymore as she moved before his eyes, her breasts bouncing invitingly.

 

‘Lick your finger,’ he ordered. ‘I want you to pleasure yourself as you ride me. I want to see you unravel.’

 

He got his wish. She continued riding him, and it was marvellous. He loved how she stroked herself, tossing her head back and closing her eyes in rapture, whilst she rode him harder and harder, trying to reach her climax that wouldn’t come because he’d halted that spell. His cock enjoyed her attempts but he was in control of his wits again and he decided it was time she recalled who was truly in charge here.

 

He reached out to her, teasing her sides with his fingertips as he moved up, circling her breasts and teasing the sensitive underside of them, before he pinched her nipples abruptly. She yelped; her eyes glazed over, and she swayed on her knees. He quickly grabbed and steadied her, holding her still as he rose up and licked her nipple with his tongue. Then, he moved to the other breast, licked it and whispered the counter spell. Her previous susceptibility came back in full force.

 

He smirked, wrapping his mouth around her nipple and suddenly sucking on it as hard as he could. The effect was spectacular. She jolted in his lap and clenched around his cock so hard he moaned in delight. Her hoarse voice screamed at the top of her lungs, while he continued to pleasure her breast. Wanting to do more to her and being unable to let go of her in their current position with the way she was shaking, he pulled her against his chest and lay down on his back before rolling them over.

 

Being on top of her again was the right choice. She had nowhere to go. He was in charge. His mouth now engulfed her other nipple, whilst he rolled the previous one between his thumb and middle finger. Simultaneously, he sucked hard and dug his nails into her nipples. She yelled, her limbs shook uncontrollably as another orgasm overtook her senses, followed by a brief period of ease for her. She was slippery with sweat and her body heat was tangible. Panting heavily, her face flushed, she looked positively exhausted and he realised that fucking her in the arse would’ve to wait for another time. This had to end now.

 

‘You know what to do,’ he whispered, kissing her gently on the mouth, feeling her walls spasm around his cock pleasurably.

 

Confused, she looked at him.

 

‘Beg,’ he said coldly. ‘Acknowledge my superiority, acknowledge you’re mine to do with as I see fit and I will be a merciful Master and allow you one last climax before releasing you.’

 

She swallowed, clearly having issues with that order. He tilted his head, licked his finger demonstratively before placing it against her clit. Her eyes widened.

 

‘I can go all night long, Hermione. How long do you think you can take this? You can’t die here. I can do as I please without worrying I will lose my new favourite toy. And you are my toy, aren’t you? My precious little sex doll. Now, say it!’ he spat.

 

‘I…’ she swallowed, moisturising her mouth to improve her ability to speak. ‘I’m yours.’ Her voice was raw from all her screams, but she was able to make herself understood.

 

Unsatisfied, he shook his head. ‘That’s not begging, doll.’

 

She inhaled sharply, fighting with herself. ‘Please, Master, I’m yours, please, please release me of this spell.’

 

He smiled, liking her intelligence. So many would’ve missed that in her current state of being. Still, she’d left out one vital thing—one vital thing that he needed to hear to establish and finalise the power balance in the state of their relationship in this realm.

 

‘Not good enough,’ he said ruthlessly, rubbing her clit and watching satisfied how she screamed and thrashed again as another wave of pleasure rolled through her.  

 

‘Acknowledge it, Hermione,’ he said gently. ‘I’ve seen inside your mind at your flat. I’ve seen inside your mind during my actions here. You could have stopped me at numerous occasions. You could’ve undone this spell yourself. You still can. Your wand is right there. It is and has always been within your reach and you ignored it deliberately. You like this, but you think it’s shameful to want it. You think it makes you less of a woman, less of an individual to submit to a man, but it doesn’t. Don’t fall prey to society’s ignorance and bigotry. This is still your choice. It will always be your choice to make … _every … single … time_. Now make it.’

 

She stared at him; he could see the wheels of her keen mind turning, the internal battle that was fought within and the resolution that followed. He smiled, already having seen the answer.

 

‘I submit myself to your care completely,’ she said, steadfast. ‘You’re my Master and I’m yours to do with as you see fit.’

 

‘Very good,’ he purred.

 

Her eyes twinkled mischievously, and he could just sense the smart alec comment coming before she uttered it.

 

‘I always knew Lord Voldemort only needed a little doll to dress up and play with to cease his reign of terror.’

 

He growled, causing her to roar with laughter. ‘You’ll pay for that, little one.’

 

‘Bring. It. On.’

  

As he kissed her languorously, he realised that perhaps being stuck inside an orb for eternity wasn’t so bad after all. It meant they would be together forever.

 

 

 


End file.
